Digimon Rising
by WatsonSword
Summary: Forty Four years after the events of Digimon Tamers, the world has taken a turn for the worse. It will now be up to a new group of tamers not to save Humankind from Digimon, but to save Digimon from Humans. Saga fic, meaning epic many episodes.
1. Episode one, part one

Digimon Tamers:

Digimon Rising

Episode one: Part One

By

Watson Sword

Legal Disclaimer

* * *

Digimon is © Toei Animation and Bandai

I hold no claim of ownership of Digimon or any related characters. I hold no claim to any form of monetary profit for this or any other Digimon related story I would write.

This story is strictly to be provided to the general public for free and under no conditions.

The Character Vulpamon was created by the artist Furball a.k.a. Acchan. I have Acchan's written permission to use her character.

Her exact words…

_Hehe, well i'm sure that Vulpy wouldn't be too pleased if i leant her out. ; However, i can allow you to use the vulpamon 'species' as that belongs to me. Choose a Vulpamon. Any Vulpamon. hehe_

_And, i don't dislike (url removed by this website) They're just not my favourite at the moment. ;_

* * *

The date was October fifteenth, twenty forty seven. It was eleven o'clock at night and all manner of crowds were gathered at the final tier of Tokyo's Sky City 2, most of them protesters. There were two distinct groups of protesters, separated on either side of the park that led to the Parliament Chambers, moved there long ago from wherever they had been. The groups shouted obscenities and accusations at each other from across the walkway to the Parliament Chambers. Over a thousand heavily armed guards stood on massive concrete walkway. They clutched at their weapons nervously, binder foam sprayers with attached grenade launchers armed with electrified nets. Five thousand volts could be shot through ten people at once with one of those.

Neither group was allowed to cross the walkway, and for good reason. The two groups eyed each other with murderous intent, and if they were allowed to mingle, all hell would certainly break lose. Despite the locale of the conference, the crowd was quit international. Japanese, Chinese, and Americans made up the majority, though there were quite a few British and Indians among them. A small minority was French or Middle Eastern. They all came here to protest their particular point to the gathering of the Japanese parliament within the highest tier of the five kilometer tower.

Normally the squabblings of the Japanese parliament would not attract such attention, but today was a special case. The Parliament Chambers of Sky City 2, were now host to a rare gathering of ambassadors from nearly a dozen countries, all with one thing on their minds, what to do about Digimon.

The protesters on the right side of the park were the ones who were most likely to try to pull something that would lead to a riot. They were mostly middle-aged married men and single mothers. Quite a few of them though were college graduates. Not a single face among them was Digimon, and for good reason. The signs they waved in the air, in five different languages, declared things like: "The invasion is upon us!", "We were here first!", "Mother's for HUMAN rights!", "Send the Digimon back where they came from", but the most common of the sings was also the most prevalent, "Down with Digimon!"

The protesters on the left side seemed far less vocal, or at least they weren't swearing as much. They were a vastly younger crowd, so it seemed strange that they were the calmer and more rational of the sides. In spite of their apparent cool headedness, it was the crowd on the left that made the guards stationed between them the most nervous, for almost a third of them were Digimon. There was everything from the smallest Wormmon and Palmon, to the eighteen-foot tall champion Devimon and Draymon. All of them, Digimon and human alike, held up their own picket signs proclaiming: "Digimon are people too!", "My Digimon saved my life!", "Keitaro Kondo is a Nazi!" and "Digimon's rights now!". If by the off chance that crowd was the one who made a violent move, then there was certainly almost nothing that could be done to stop them.

Amazingly, through the entire night, neither group instigated large scale violence, despite over a dozen close calls that required hospitalizations and police negotiators. Most fortunately of all, no human ever tried to assault a Digimon. That would have led to the Digimon defending itself, even though they legally weren't allowed to do that, but no one would've blamed them, except for those who called Digimon mindless, vicious, animal things.

Amongst the two crowds shouting obscenities at each other and generally making total asses of themselves for the press, two figures stood in the shadows keeping to themselves. A human and a rather tall Digimon, neither with picket signs and neither making a sound. Instead they waited for a suitable distraction.

One of the Mothers for HUMAN rights had crossed the barricade on the walkway to try to beat down one the college age Digimon tamers who was mooning her. The kid got a few bruises, and they were both arrested on the spot. This had caused a commotion in both crowds. That was enough of a distraction. The human hoped onto the back of his partner and the tall Digimon dashed away.

The figure climbed onto one of the oak trees surrounding the outside of the park like a fence. The figure jumped swiftly from tree to tree, unseen by any, eventually circling around the park and now sitting on a branch only a meter away from a dull tan column leading up to the roof of the back of the Parliament Chambers. The figure wasted no time in jumping onto the column and climbing up to the roof. A guard walked by and heard a rustling. He turned to look but saw nothing. The figure had already climbed beyond his sight, back into the shadows.

It dashed across the roof and stopped next to a large air vent, the spitting image of Renamon, at least in shape. The color was off. She was deep navy blue whereas Renamon was a canary yellow. Other than that, there seemed to be no difference between the two.

"We reached the vent." She said, her voice as well, was identical to the yellow fox Digimon made famous forty four years ago.

The boy heard her, and climbed off her back onto the rooftop. He was probably seventeen years old from the look of him. He dressed in jeans and a jean jacket covering a plain black t-shirt. He had jet black hair and blue eyes. Though he looked Caucasian at a glance, a closer look would reveal he clearly had some oriental in him. The boy didn't waste any time pulling out a screwdriver and unscrewing the grate to the vent.

"Are you sure you want to do this Eric?" The Digimon asked. "If this is successful you'll be thrust into the spotlight, and not in a good way."

"What's more important Vulpamon," Eric answered. "peace, or one poor sop's peace of mind?"

Vulpamon smirked at the comment. "I'll take that as a yes."

Eric had just finished unscrewing the grate to the vent and reached down into his back pocket to pull out a crumpled piece of paper with simple hand written directions on it. Vulpamon caught the grate before it fell down and made too much noise.

Eric crawled inside. After setting the grate down, Vulpamon followed.

* * *

The parliament inside the courtroom sat in their seats on balconies high above a center staging area where the ambassadors bickered with each other. The parliament were content to sit in their seats and listen to the ramblings of a young member of the Japanese lower house with slicked back hair and a tacky chrome colored suit. Although currently it was not his turn to speak, but the turn of someone from the much smaller group on the opposite side of the staging area, French Ambassador Darcy Xavierra.

"Politics, mass commerce, religion, philosophy, art and science, even sex and reproduction! The Ancestral Digimon that first came through the Shinjuku gate had the mentality of children. They could barely understand any of these concepts. But all that changed thirty one years ago, with the sudden emergence of the New Digimon. These new Digimon were infinitely more complex both physically and psychologically than the old. They engage in all the things I just mentioned as if that's what they have always been doing.  
"I'm not just quoting history books Mr. Kondo, I am trying to make a point. The Digimon are evolving. They are becoming more like us in every way. Their capacity for reason and abstract thought, and moreover self control is now near our own. I believe that the more intellectual capacity the Digimon gain, the more they deserve all the rights afforded to us humans, based on our intellectual capacity."

The lower house member in the chrome suit, one Keitaro Kondo, adjusted his glasses with his thumb and huffed rather angrily before responding to Darcy's rebuttal.

"That was certainly very philosophical Ms. Xavierra but I'm afraid you're missing the point. The Digimon may very well be a threat to all humans and no amount of philosophy is going to change that. They are a threat we have to contend with. Furthermore, Ms. Xavierra, what you failed to mention is where they came from. These creatures were created by our computers, essentially by us, and now they come into our world and just expect to be treated as equals? I'm sorry but that's not how it works. They are our creations and therefore should service us. What's more, they came into our world in a mass exodus as freeloaders! They are invaders in our world, and invaders should either obey our rules, or get out."

"Personally Mr. Kondo," Darcy rebutted. "I believe it is what a being is that determines its liability for rights, not where it came from."

"But in war Ms. Xaveierra, one kills one's enemies, no matter what rights one thinks they should be afforded!""

"But we are not at war, and that's exactly the kind of thinking that led to the rise of Nazi Germany."

A slight murmur sounded through the parliament as they pondered why the French Ambassador would make such an incredibly bold statement. It wasn't long before they realized it wasn't Darcy Xavierra who said that. The voice was too deep, and too calm. There was someone else in the room, an intruder.

Out from the shadows near the entrance of the staging area walked a teenage boy in jeans and a jean jacket alongside a deep blue fox like Digimon apparently seven to nine inches taller than him.

"Security!" Someone shouted out.

Keitaro Kondo raised his hand and shook his head. "Call off security! Let them speak. After all, everyone has the right to their own opinions."

"You're too kind Mr. Kondo." Vulpamon said, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

The sarcasm was not lost on Keitaro Kondo, who made a slight grimace with only half his mouth at the strange Digimon's comment.

"So what are you here to tell us?" Kondo asked.

"Nobody knows Digimon better than a Digimon Tamer." Eric answered. "If you want to know whether or not Digimon are any threat to humans, all you have to do is ask one."

"I'm assuming you're implying you are a Digimon Tamer," Kondo responded. "In which case you would want me to ask you, very well. Are Digimon a threat to human kind?"

"If you've ever seen the kind of bond a tamer shares with his or her Digimon, you would realize that that Digimon would never hurt a human except in self defense, or in defense of another."

"What about Digimon Madness?" Kondo asked with a slightly larger smirk. He was sure now that there would be no contending with his logic. But Eric knew he was going to say that, and had the perfect response.

"I hold to the belief that it's a infectious disease," Eric said aloud to the whole parliament. "like rabies with humans. The answer to Digimon madness would be find its cure, not to force them all into a global tracing system."

"I suppose I can't convince you otherwise," Kondo responded. "So I'll address your previous point. Digimon are not supposed to harm humans period, not even in self defense, or defense of another."

"That's one of the many rights my tamer and I believe we Digimon should be afforded." Vulpamon said.

Keitaro Kondo ignored Vulpamon's statement entirely and focused on Eric instead. "Tell me boy. If no one knows their Digimon better than a tamer, just how well do you know your Digimon?"

Eric and Vulpamon both grinned at the comment. It was a grin that didn't make KondoSan feel very comfortable.

"Better yet," Eric said. "Why don't we show you?"

Eric and Vulpamon turned toward each other. Vulpamon narrowed her eyes at Eric and gave him an almost predatory smile. It made Eric's spine tingle every time he saw it because he knew exactly what it meant. It worked this time as well even though they'd planned this from the start. The look she gave once made Eric's mouth go dry, but after getting used to it, it made his mouth water in anticipation. This was going to be the first time any one else saw them doing this. What an audience to pick, a gathering of the Japanese parliament, a dozen foreign ambassadors, and more than a dozen international news networks. Eric didn't know whether to be afraid or exhilarated. Vulpamon on the other hand was her usual cool, collected self.

Vulpamon wrapped her arms around Eric's shoulders and pulled him close to her. She closed her eyes and Eric followed her lead. The parliament went into an uproar of screaming and flailing about when suddenly, Vulpamon bent over and pressed her lips against Eric's.

Keitaro Kondo and Darcy Xavierra both stared in shock and bewilderment at what they saw. Even from the distance, they could clearly see Eric and Vulpamon's tongues swirling quickly around each other's, and into each other's mouths. It was a display that was clearly intentional. The wilder it looked for the cameras, the better.

The white noise of the parliament started to die down. It was too soon for that; it had only been a minute. Thinking fast, Vulpamon reached one arm down to grab Eric's leg and pull it up to her hip. It seemed to work; the noise picked right back up again. They continued with their lips locked and their tongues swirling around each other like corkscrews for all to see. Eric's arms were wrapped around Vulpamon's waste and he was now kneading at her shoulders.

Several more minutes passed. They both lost count at around three. With a look of an eye, they both agreed that it had been long enough. They loosened their grip on each other and Vulpamon let Eric's leg fall back to the floor. When they separated, they let a string of saliva fall down from each other's tongues onto their chins.

That was so much unlike what they were used to. Whenever they locked lips in their privacy, it was always at least slightly more tasteful, much unlike the porno kiss they had just performed. Neither Eric nor Vulpamon were entirely sure whether or not they liked it. It was thrilling as all hell sure… no it wasn't, that was the just the choice of audience. It had actually been very uncomfortable. Either way, it got the job done.

Everything was dead silent in the great hall as Eric and Vulpamon looked out. Everyone in the room, both the ambassadors in the staging area and the parliament in the balconies above, stared at the two intruders as if they were seeing death.

Noticing how everyone was speechless, Vulpamon took the opportunity to add in one last comment.

"If that was not convincing enough, we'll gladly take our display to the next level."

"No!" Kondo snapped back. "I think we got the point quite clearly. Security, you may escort our guests out now."

Two guards in typical officer uniforms took their place next to Eric and Vulpamon. They didn't resist, both Digimon and tamer turned around and walked out of the great hall.

* * *

Eric and Vulpamon walked out into the park side by side, this time from the main entrance of the Parliament Chambers. They walked out to two huge crowds of protesters, one singing their praises, and the other shrieking out condemnations.

In only seconds they were hounded by the press being asked too many questions for either of them to register any single one.

Vulpamon sneered at the flashing lights, she clenched her fists ready to strike until she felt Eric's hand on her wrist. She looked at him and he shook his head at her. He knew exactly how to read her body language, and had just stopped her from making a terrible mistake.

Vulpamon cleared her throat and turned back toward the cameras. Neither she nor Eric still registered any single question they were being asked, so Vulpamon just said the first thing she thought would be appropriate.

"My name is Vulpamon. My tamer, Eric McCaige and I do very much love each other. What we did was to make a point, but it was not acting."

Vulpamon grabbed Eric by the shoulders and kissed him again in front of the cameras and reporters. Eric was shocked by the suddenness, but he didn't struggle. He had learned long ago not to do that, since Vulpamon was easily eight to ten times stronger than he was. 


	2. Episode one, part two

A silent screen flickered on a desk in the darkness. It was a small like what you may find in a portable movie player. The screen showed what was all over every major news site in the world, some kid and his navy colored fox Digimon kissing. No, they weren't just kissing, they were making out as if they were in some teen sex comedy. It wasn't just their audience that gave away that what they were doing was just a show, but the press would have no part of that. Still, the hidden face watching the screen wondered if there was something more to it than just a show.

The screen cut to two middle aged women in flashy red suits commenting on the _situation at Sky City 2_. The feed was muted, so whoever watched it couldn't know what they said. More than likely, he didn't care what they said. The commentary went on for about five minutes before going right back to the footage of the boy and his Digimon going at each other.

The light from the screen was the only light in the room. You couldn't tell how big the room was. You could only tell that there was a small, dim monitor resting on an old wooden surface that had been refinished many times to cover up countless scratches and beatings. An old hand loosely holding onto a half smoked cigarro. The gold leaf glittering on the cigarro gave it away as some aristocratic South American brand claiming to be the finest in the world, probably costing a small fortune each.

The hand that held that cigarro was a world of contradiction. It's skin was bone white. It seldom saw the light of day, or any light for that matter. The skin clung to the muscle as if it were a size too small. It was smooth, but worn far beyond its years, even though it was quite old. It was strange since all sings pointed to this hand never being put through manual labor; the tendons did not show, the fingers were still chubby and the webbing between them was prominent. The only sings of trauma was the occasional scar and a massive writer's callous. The only plausible explanation for the contradictory features of this hand is that, while it led a very relaxed life, it led a life far from stress free. That hand had been through an awful lot of pain in its years.

The hand put the cigarro down in an ash tray just beyond the reach of the light and brought back a tiny black finished wooden Sake cup just as worn a the table. The hand lifted the cup out of reach of the light again, presumably to the mouth of its owner, and then set it back down on the table. The Sake was cold, so you knew it, like the cigarro, had to be expensive.

The darkness was interrupted by a sliver of light leaking out of a door that had just been opened. As the door opened the light revealed more of the strange man at his desk, a ghostly white face with pure white hair, and a fatigued expression. He briefly looked up to see just who came in. Just as quickly, the door shut, and all but the screen and the hand went dark again.

There was a click, and a much larger screen came on. The wall itself was the screen. It showed the same same newsfeed as the small screen. The wall illuminated the room revealing everything within. It was empty except for the desk, and even the desk was nearly empty. There was only the sake, a small ironwood box of the snobbish cigarros, an ash tray, a tiny laptop computer currently closed, the small monitor, a picture in a frame, and a neat stack of paperwork on the corner with an antique fountain pen next to an ink well.

The man at the desk was indeed old, at least in his fifties. Even still, he carried the body of someone at least twenty years older than him. He looked tired, tortured, and miserable, but carried on despite this.

The figure at the doorway was the polar opposite of this man. She was a spiting image of the kind of health and vigor all human beings should have in their fifties. Everything about her radiated an aura of limitless energy and power normally associated with someone thirty years younger than herself. Even her perfectly pressed velure suit was in stark contrast to his wrinkled charcoal wool coat. She looked like the kind of woman who dated men less than half her age.

They spoke in Japanese.

"Have you seen this?" The woman spoke out quite commandingly.

"I've been seeing it for the past hour and a half." The man responded. His voice was somewhere between a talk and a whisper. "They replayed the footage sixteen times."

The man took another puff of his cigarro and then breathed deeply before he was about to speak, but the woman spoke before him.

"Do you think he's worth watching?"

"To hell with watching," The man answered. "send him the package."

The woman looked at him as if he were crazy.

"Are you sure?" She asked. "We don't even know his name!"

"I know his name, and I've been keeping tabs on him for a long time now."

"How long?"

"Long enough."

The woman sighed and grit her teeth to avoid yelling at him for keeping such secrets. He noticed, but gave no response other than the briefest glance.

"Fine!" She huffed, "I'll send him a package."

"Not a package," The man interrupted. "the package."

"You mean?"

"He's the one we're looking for." The man said nodding.

"How do you?…"

"That may have been for show, but beneath the wanton whatever-you-call-it, there was genuine passion there."

"You mean they really? A Human and a Digimon. How would you know-"

"Like I said," The man interrupted again. "I've been keeping tabs on him for a long time."

"Right. I'll send him the package."

The woman softly smacked the wall with fingertips and the image it displayed turned off, leaving the room dark once again. The darkness was only briefly interrupted as she left, leaving the man there to look at what he had been seeking for so long.

Alone, he mumbled to himself, "You'd better damn well be worth all the effort it took me to bring you this far Hajime."

* * *

It was huge, the main parking structure at the first tier of Sky City 2. It was also empty, empty of people that is. It was full of cars however. This was the parking lot of the entire, city, and took up nearly the whole tier. The rest was storage used by the janitors and automechanics that were regularly needed there. Though by now dawn had broke, the sun was so far away, what with the eight roofs above, spanning almost a kilometer in all directions, it seemed like the middle of the night. Only a few flickering lights let one see where one was.

The parking structure wasn't quite silent. You could hear distant dripping pipes, buzzing lights and grinding gravel as a single person walked casually into the light and toward a cheap looking red motor scooter.

It was Eric McCaige.

Eric's hair and clothes were unkempt, and he even had a few light scratches on his face from the hounding reporters boxing him into a cage of human bodies and screaming meaningless white noise at him and Vulpamon.

Eric leaned against a cement column next to the scooter and sighed. Hd reached into his back pocket and pulled out a scratched old plastic card. He licked the black strip on the back of the card and shoved it in a slot on his scooter. Nothing happened. Eric pulled out his card and licked it again, this time harder. He stuck it in the slot again and the scooter's front light turned on..

Eric was about to get on the scooter when the light on his scooter became blindingly bright. No it wasn't the scooter, it was coming from the side. Eric turned his head to see three black silhouettes standing up straight with their arms behind their backs as if in some kind of military pose.

Eric winced and visored his hand with his eyes, but said nothing.

"Good morning Mr. McCaige"

The figure in the center spoke with a distinctly southern Japanese accent, deep, raspy, unnecessarily loud and imposing, all consonants, and damn near incoherent. These were the kind of people who would still sneer at every _gaijin_ that passed their way, who still insist that the rape of Nanking never happened, and who think the only use for Digimon is slave labor. They were the Japanese equivalent of American white trash hicks, and they were clearly hired goons. It took only the first month of living in Japan for Eric to learn not to associate with people who talked like that.

"Yeah, that's me." Eric responded.

"You, sir, have a big mouth," The man continued. "People like you spread disorder and confusion. You must be taught a lesson sir."

Had he been speaking Japanese he'd be using uber-formal syntax. Though his face was hidden by light, his inflection was enough to convey that he despised showingEric any kind of respect

. More than likely, he wanted to address Eric with pet syntax, something that would get you thrown out of most establishments, even if you were a _gaijin_.

The light died down and Eric could at last see who was confronting him. They were all dressed in identical blue dress shirts, brown slacks, and sunglasses. Clearly they were very original. The two on the sides were quite large and fairly young, though the center one was short, middle aged, and had a slightly receding hairline.

They all brought their hands up front. They held brass rods with small bulbs on one end. They twisted dials on the bottom of the rods and the bulbs started to glow. Sick sticks! They were going to make him puke his guts out and then beat him senseless and leave him there, or maybe the other way around.

There was no avoiding this. Eric dug his feet into the pavement and raised his fists. The two men on the sides came after him.

One lunged right at him with his stick extended. Eric easily spun to the side only to be caught be the man's sweeping other arm. Eric was knocked onto the ground. That was no amateur move, the stick was just a distraction away from his real attack. Hicks they may have been, but they studied, Judo probably, that was most prevalent in the south. Eric couldn't afford to take these guys lightly.

A sick stick came hurtling down right toward Eric's diaphragm. Quick decision, Eric rolled onto his side and the stick hit him in the kidney instead. The horrid shock went up and down his body one instant, and in the next his whole left side went numb, but at least he didn't hurl. Eric spun around on the ground with his left leg up in the air. It caught his attacker and sent him to the ground. Eric pushed himself back up to see the second man throwing himself at him. Eric started skipping backwards as the man swung his stick at him. It was a few seconds of jumping back before a poor swing was delivered which gave Eric his chance. Eric grabbed hold of the stick and pulled as hard as he could. This sent the man hurtling forward into Eric's knee, and he doubled over clutching his stomach. A quick tap of the sick stick to the side of the neck and he was out cold.

Gravel was scraping to Eric's right. He turned and saw the other goon charging him. Eric swung his stick right at his face, but it was a misjudgment. The man dived down and grabbed Eric by the legs, throwing him up into the air and onto his back. As soon as Eric had landed, he felt searing shock of a Sick Stick shoved into his gut. Eric turned his head threw up the entire contents of his stomach. His whole body was now numb. He could move, but without a sense of touch he had the coordination of a toddler. He was now at the mercy of the hicks.

The one still awake lifted him up by the arms and shoved him against the column. The middle aged man walked over to Eric and began hitting him in the side. Eric didn't jostle at the blows, all he could feel was tingling throughout his body. But he would sure be feeling those bruises when regained his sense of touch in an hour or two. The middle aged man finished his treatment on Eric's side and gave one quick backhand to the eye, which would become a black eye later.

The short man was about to backhand Eric across the other eye when.

"Excuse me gentlemen, but would you happen to have a license for this boy's senseless beating?"

The large man turned his head to be met with a huge three fingered palm to his chin knocking him onto his back. Eric fell onto his butt sitting up against the column.

It was Vulpamon.

The man got right back up from that hit. Eric watched in slight confusion. Vulpamon could've knocked him out with that strike. Hell, she could've split his jaw right down the middle if she wanted to, but she held back almost all of her power. She wanted to toy with him.

The man side kicked at the motionless Vulpamon. He missed, as if on purpose. Vulpamon knew exactly what to expect. The other leg swept around to catch Vulpamon's other side, but she thrust her arm straight down, pushing it down along with the rest of him, back onto the pavement.

The man beat his hands into the pavement and got back up to see Vulpamon with her arms crossed and slowly walking toward him, and her tail gyrating ever so slowly. He ran toward her again. He tried to use his arms as a shield to push her off to the side and then wrap around her waist so he could bring her to the ground. What he instead found was that Vulpamon had spun around on one foot in perfect sync with his shove. A single hand became undone and a slight push on the shoulder sent the man flying through the air and rolling across the ground on his own momentum.

"Such a shame isn't it" Vulpamon said as if talking to a child. "being beaten senseless by the waste product of human inginuity."

That was an insult no Japanese hick could ever let pass. Their very dignity as human beings depended on repaying it. The man got up again and screamed as he charged Vulpamon. That was the end of it. As he threw his fist at Vulpamon, a hand on his wrist and another on his elbow spun him around and landed his face on the windshield of a car, setting off the alarm. He was unconscious with blood pouring from his nose.

The other man stood still. He stared down Vulpamon with the fearlessness typical of a drunk. In that instant she knew that he could've done the same thing she just did.

The short, stubby old man reached into the back of his pants with both hands. There was something tucked away there. He brought his hands out and showed Vulpamon what they were. A sick stick in one hand, and a Tanto in the other. he flicked on the sick stick, and the Tanto. The blade of the knife began to distort into waves as if being seen through water, as a sharp whining filled the parking lot. It was an echoblade, one of the few human weapons that could do serious harm to a powerful Digimon like Vulpamon.

The man walked slowly toward Vulpamon, his knees bent to make him almost half a foot shorter than he already was, and his weapons held out in front of him. This one was smarter than the others. Nothing would assure an easy defeat quite like being unduly aggressive, and he knew it.

Vulpamon still stood motionless, except for her tail which swished back and forth in slow motion. The man thrust at her with his stick while leaving the Tanto for defense. Vulpamon was easily able to parry him at the wrist, but he went with it, not allowing her to grab him. This continued for almost a minute, the man slowly walking forward and striking at her with his stick and her parrying at the wrist, not bothering with the actual weapon.

He was bound to slip up eventually, and he did. He took a step forward and pull all his weight on his front foot. With a blur of motion, Vulpamon's own foot slid over and struck his, knocking him over into his stomach and throwing his weapons out into the shadows. He tried to twirl around and trip up Vulpamon's legs, but she jumped at the very last second, landing one foot on the side of his knees, causing a popping noise and bending it in an unnatural direction. Perhaps this man was a Judo master, but he was still a hick. Only a complete idiot would dare attack a Digimon without full shock armor and a railgun.

The man screamed louder than his small body seemed capable of and clutched his knee. His watering eyes shut tight and his whole body tensed and curled into a ball, Vulpamon took the opportunity to lift him up by the shirt and shove him into a column.

"Who sent you!?" Vulpamon barked at him, her razor like teeth exposed just inches from his face.

"I dunno'!" He screeched back.

Vulpamon released one hand and extended her middle claw. She shoved it into a spot just above the side of his pelvic bone. He reacted, jittering and growling as if his whole body burned in pain.

Vulpamon released her claw from his side and a trickle of blood ran down his pants over his pocket.

"Who sent you!?" She barked again, this time letting drops of her saliva land of his face.

"Honestly, I don't know!" He cried again. "He hired me over comm.! His voice was masked!"

"How much is he paying you?"

"Fifty thousand yen a piece! We weren't gonna kill the boy, only hurt him real bad I swear!"

"I'd say you hurt him bad enough. Go get your money, and then go find a more honest job."

Vulpamon dropped the short man to the ground who immediately rolled over on his side, again clutching at his dislocated knee. Vulpamon brought up her foot and thrust it down onto the short man's knee, bending it back into its proper alignment. The short man screamed again but quickly stopped and rubbed his knee as he found that it was back in place and the pain was fading. He barely managed to stand up and hobble away.

Vulpamon watched him until he disappeared into the shadows, and then turned her attention to Eric.

Just from looking at him, Vulpamon's entire body released its tension. Her shoulders slumped down and her breathing slowed. She looked at Eric's face and her tail swished a bit faster. Eric looked like a human punching bag. His eye was already starting to swell up there was a huge scrape across his face from sliding in the pavement. It was a wonder that there was so little blood on his face. That was only what could be seen. It was a good thing he he was numb.

This Vulpamon was so different from the one that was there just moments ago. The face that once held the most stern of glares was now soft. She looked over Eric's body and smiled.

Eric looked back at Vulpamon, trying to think of something to say, but Vulpamon beat him to it.

"We really have to stop meeting like this." She said.

Eric gave out a laugh, which quickly turned into a cough. Vulpamon took two steps forward to Eric and knelt down in front of him.

"I told you you'd be thrust into the spotlight, and it a bad way." She said.

Ever so slowly, and with a kind of exquisite gentleness one would not think her capable of given her previous display, she lifted Eric into her arms and cradled him against the mane on her chest.

Eric opened his mouth about to speak, only to feel a cold, wet nose press against his upper lip, silencing him.

"But don't talk." She said. "What you need right now is a cold bath, and an ice pack for that eye. And tonight, I'll make this all worth while for you."

Vulpamon lifted her nose from Eric's lip and softly licked across the bottom of his nose.

Eric smiled, and leaned his head against Vulpamon's fur.

* * *

The world of dark slowly turned into a world of a gray blur, and then a light blur. Numbness became a slight cramp, and then a massive ache over the whole body. There was a horrible pain in the side and a pulsing headache. 

Eric slowly came to, and realized where he was. Most of his clothes were gone. He was now only in his underwear and a fresh t-shirt. There was a bitter cold on his head. It was a cold pack. Eric lifted up his hand, it shook and he was barely able to smack cold pack to the floor. His body was throbbing in pain. What was worse, there some kind of _WAA, WAA_ noise beating into his brain and making his headache worse.

Eric's world became slightly clearer and he realized that the noise was not coming from inside his head, but from outside. There were two figures standing above him yelling. Who were they?

Eric's world became a bit clearer. They were American, WASPs most definitely, blond hair, blue eyes, about forty years old, and fairly tall, both with short hair.

Where was he?

Eric was laying on a tan, denim couch. He was in a plain small living room with a large monitor on the wall, a plastic coffee table, and not much else. This was all stuff that could be moved to a new apartment on a moments notice.

Apartment! This was his apartment just outside Shibuya's entertainment district. He must've fallen asleep. Vulpamon must've taken him back from Sky City 2 by cab, probably with money she took from his own pocket. But that didn't explain who was yelling at him, or why.

Eric's world cleared up completely. He recognized the two people standing above him, a man and a woman, both in glasses. They traveled around the world as sales reps for a computer company, and he traveled with them. They wore nice suits. They always wore nice suits. Eric seldom saw them in casual clothes since they could be called upon at a moments notice.

"You're a god damn beastialist Eric! That's what you are!" The woman screamed at him.

"Could you please be rational?" The man interrupted loudly.

"How the hell can I be rational when my son's turned into a sideshow freak?"

"Beastiality implies one partner's not intelligent Marcy."

"Shut up Devon!"

Marcy turned her attention toward the battered Eric laying on the couch with his battered body. Eric wasn't sure if she was languishing or enraged, or perhaps both. Her eyes were filled with tears, which were ruining her makeup, and her teeth were gritting. Her face was bright red and her fists were clenched so hard Eric though her palms might start bleeding. Eric wondered if she was going to go awol and start beating on him. But in his condition, he wasn't coherent enough to be afraid.

"How long were you keeping this from me?" Marcy asked in only a slightly calmer voice.

"A little over a year." Eric barely manage to sigh.

"You begged me to let you keep Vulpamon." Marcy responded. "I agreed just to keep the DRS from getting to her. I should've left her on the streets of Paris. I should've just let the troopers do her in. You're not my son anymore."

Marcy swung around and stomped out of the room.

"I never was your son to begin with!" Eric shouted out just before he heard a door slam. The sound aggravated his headache and made him wince.

He turned his head and saw Devon still standing above him, looking down on him.

"Hey there how's it going?" Eric said.

"Alright, you?" Devon answered.

"Never better." Eric answered right back.

An awkward silence was held between the two of them for some time. Devon sighed and lowered his head into his hand. There was more awkward silence. Eric blinked.

"You know, as crazy as she gets, Marcy's right. I mean, I wish you could stay here with us but… believe me Eric, I really do want you to stay. I do love you, and if… if you're in love with a Digimon than… that's fine by me."

Eric looked at Devon. There was sincerity in his voice, and in his face.

"I believe you." Eric whispered out.

"But these are circumstances beyond my control." Devon continued. "I'm so sorry Eric."

"Don't be. I'm the one who got me into this hellhole and I'm going to have to live with it."

"I can't help you Eric, not with something as big as this."

"Yeah dad, I know."

Yet another awkward silence was shared. This time it was Eric who broke it.

"I knew this was going to happen. I knew if I did that I'd have to go out and make it on my own. I was ready for that. I still am."

"If you knew what was going to happen then why did you show your true colors in front of parliment?"

"Because I want to make some kind of difference in this world."

"Oh, I get it, it's the whole Takato Matsuda thing again. Hero worship isn't healthy Eric, it does strange things to your head."

"Whatever."

"Well," Devon said. "I'll keep you around as long as possible, but I can't promise anything. You're going to have to go off on your own eventually. Maybe it'll be good for you. Hell, maybe you'll even find out who your real parents were. I mean besides what we already know."

Devon continued talking, but his voice began to fade into a murmur. Eventually, his image began to fade into a fuzzy blob. Eric drifted off into sleep once again.

* * *

By the time Eric woke up, it was the middle of the night. The pain was manageable, and his world was now lucid. He was still nothing pretty to look at. Eric's eye was still black, he had a huge bruise in his side and his face was still scraped to hell. But he could stand up and walk around. 

He got up and stumbled through the darkness. He stumbled out of the living room into a hallway and made a sharp right turn at the very end. He flicked on the light. This was his room. Like every other room, it was made to be packed up and shipped away at a moments notice, so everything was completely orderly, what little of it there was.

Eric walked by his desk with his laptop and printer on it. Among other things was his d-arc flashing a picture of Vulpamon's face and a small pile of electronic cards, most of them digimodify cards. They were useless on new Digimon like Vulpamon, only the more primitive, androgynous ancestral Digimon could gain any power from them, so they were only useful as collector's items.

He walked past the desk and glanced at his small bookshelf propped up on a table tray. The entire thing was filled with titles like, _The Life and Times of Takato Matsuda_, _The Uncertain Hero: The Story of Takato Matsuda_, and _The Self Destructive Fear by Takato Matsuda, _as well as small assortment of collectable Guilmon action figures, commemorative plates, and pez dispensers.

Eric continued forward and fell face first onto his fold up bed. He turned his head to the side and reached out for his Guilmon head pillow and scrunched in up in his arm.

Something sat down next to him on the bed. It was Vulpamon. Say lay her hands on Eric's shoulders so lightly he almost didn't notice. She began to rub his shoulders, again, so gently that it almost felt like he wasn't being touched at all. This was something only Vulpamon could do. Eric's whole body shuttered and then loosened at this lightest touch. Vulpamon was always able to do that to him, no matter how tense he was.

Eric rolled over onto his back and Vulpamon slowly climbed over and sat down on his waist, careful not to put much weight on him. She started to slowly trace shapes over Eric's chest through his shirt with her claw.

Eric looked up at her. She smiled so warmly, and her tail moved back and fourth ever so slowly. Her tail was almost hypnotizing. Everything about Vulpamon seemed to have an aura of incredible softness and calm affection. She was only ever like this when they were alone together. If anyone else was present, she was the cold, uncaring, emotionless bitch with a frightening violent streak to her. What she was now seemed to be her true self.

Looking at her being so gentle and loving, Eric burst into tears on the spot.

"Why weren't you there to back me up?" he cried.

Vulpamon brought her hands down to and wrapped them around Eric, brining him up to her warm flowing mane. He dug his hands inside her mane as hard as he could and pressed himself against her. It was so warm and silky, it was like being immersed inside a pillow. No matter what, even if she was the object of his anger, being held against Vulpamon's mane could always sooth him.

Vulpamon held Eric with one hand while stroking his head with the other, her own cheek pressing into his forehead while he continued to cry and try to pound her in the chest with his clenched fist. But even if Vulpamon could be hurt by a strike from a human, there was no power behind his blows, they were no more than display.

"I'm sorry Eric." She whispered into his ear. "I'm sorry but if I was there with your parents trying to side with you, it would only have made things worse."

Eric cried more. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, Vulpamon was right. Her presence could only have turned disownment into something even worse, whatever that may be.

It was a few minutes before Eric stopped crying. Vulpamon finally released him from her mane, as much as he didn't want to go, and laid him back down on his bed.

Vulpamon reached down over the side of the bed and brought up a small box wrapped in brown bag paper.

"What is it?" Eric asked.

"It came for you about an hour ago." Vulpamon answered. "It was a six hour delivery so someone must've really wanted you to get it."

"It's probably anthrax."

"It doesn't smell like Anthrax."

"Give it here."

Vulpamon handed Eric the package. He looked at the label and a look of shock and confusion swept across his face.

"Hypnos Osaka?" Eric whispered. "I though Hypnos was disbanded over twenty years ago, I mean after trying to remove the firewall over Shinjuku gate."

"I thought that as well." Vulpamon replied.

Eric tore off the brown paper wrapping and found a plain white cardboard box underneath. He removed the lid and looked inside.

Vulpamon couldn't get over the face Eric made when he looked in that box.

"What's the matter?" She asked with a slight giggle. "You look like you've just seen Elvis."

"Elvis doesn't have anything on this." Eric whispered back.

From the box he pulled out a pair of worn old goggles. The lenses were covered with scratches, and the rubber connecting them had grown rigid and was starting to chip. The band was replaced entirely, but there was no mistaking that these were them.

"It's just a pair of goggles Eric." Vulpamon said, blinking a few times.

"No it's not." Eric said. "These were the same goggles Takato Matsuda wore when he fought D-Reaper forty four years ago."

Vulpamon got the unmistakable look of skepticism on her face. Eric was not gullible, but when it came to anything regarding his hero, he wanted to believe more than anything.

"Are you sure?" She asked.

"There's no mistaking it." Eric answered. "These are Takato's goggles."

"So what now?"

Eric placed the goggles on a pillow next to him and looked further into the box. There was something wrapped in packing tissue. Eric took it out of the box and carefully unwrapped it. Two electronic cards fell out onto his chest along with a fine velum certificate, complete with a gold stamp and dollar like swirls at the border.

Eric picked up the electronic cards and read the fine print on them, then he read the certificate.

"Now," Eric said. "We're going to Hong Kong."


	3. Episode two, part one

**To My Readers:** I know you people are out there. This fic's gotten almost 120 hits so far.I would like some reviews.**  
**

**To A. Nonymous:** No matter how many times I tell you, you just don't seem to get the message! If you're going to review my story, keep your review to the damn story! Reviews are for praising or critiquing someone's work, not giving them various greetings or telling them about your personal life. I am getting really pissed off at you right about now.  
If you want to tell me something about yourself or wish me a happy holiday or whatever, email me personally for that! My adress is there for everyone to see in my profile, so use it, and don't abuse the review button like you've been doing.  
Your last review has been deleated.

* * *

Hong Kong International Airport, built on a manmade island of concrete, was a marvel of speed engineering, a tribute to the phrase _simpler is better_. If you were to be so inclined, you could call it cross between a palace and a tent. The entire structure was built of prefabricated steel blocks, which to the foreigner might appear to be giant erector set. Modern polymers had long since replaced the plain glass fit into the square structure of the steel so that the walls themselves would become part of the support. The outdated fiberglass fabric roof was replaced with mirror like carbon nanotube cloth, which had to be spray-painted in order to avoid blinding incoming jets. Even the steel itself was in the middle of being replaced with many times stronger and more flexible polymers. How it was possible to keep an almost fifty-year-old structure of this size on the cutting edge as soon as the cutting edge came out was due to its modular design. If need be, the entire airport could be disassembled and reassembled in just a few months. The only thing old fashioned about this building was the feng shui master who had to be on the design team by law, but even that was almost fifty years ago. Why there weren't more buildings like this was a mystery to many. 

On this day, a large crowd of reporters and autograph seekers had gathered in the international flight wing where a jumbo jet had just landed from Tokyo. Who they were looking for though, was from either Japan nor Hong Kong.

The first class passengers exited first, among them mostly businessmen from mainland China, Taiwan, Korea and Japan. A few were from the United States, and a few among those were tourists. It was a civil stampede of plain gray suits with just a dash of casual wear thrown in for effect, looking almost like an incoming tidal wave.

It was courteous of the expected passengers to exit last, so the rest of first class didn't have to deal with the press and fandom waiting for them. Fandom was almost all there was for these passengers. Perhaps that's why their mystery host had invited him here of all places. In many parts of the world they would be lynched on sight for what he had done, but Hong Kong was not one of them.

Eric at last exited the airport terminal and stepped onto the marble-esque plastic of the floor. As with the suggestion in the tourist handbook he had picked up earlier, Eric had forgone his previous jean clad wardrobe in favor of a silver colored suit with a bright red tie. A pair of very antique looking goggles on his forehead seemed out of place with the rest of his apparel.

Vulpamon walked beside Eric, almost hovering around him protectively. She eyed everyone who walked by suspiciously, as she always did in crowded places.

The air in the airport had kind of a forest freshness to it. This surprised Eric just a bit, considering what he heard about the city itself. he looked around. Plants of every kind surrounded him in every shape and size of pot placed everywhere there was conveinient room that would hinder traffic. That must've been why the air was so fresh. Aside from the noises of the crowds and machinery at work, one could hear a light neojazz in the background with lyrics in Cantonese, and a couple repeating English and French phrases thrown in for effect.

As Eric and Vulpamon walked down the red carpeted isle to the end of their gate, two rows of red suited attendants handed bowed lightly as they walked by and handed them small gifts like bamboo flutes and silk hairties. This only added to the pleasentness of their greeting. Two years of living in Japan gave to no discomfort in either of them bowing right back to the attendants.

As soon as they passed through the gate into the foyer of the wing, the pleasantness of the moment came to an abrupt halt. Dozens of silver suits were upon him, each more identical than the last, and each holding microphones and camcorders. Most shouted at either or both of them in Cantonese, others in Japanese and/or English, all sure that they would understand one of the three languages.

This was only the second time Eric and Vulpamon had been boxed inside of a human cage. So many voices became a blur of static for Eric, and so many flashing lights gave both of them slight headaches. They were disoriented for sure. The reporters could tell that, but nothing would stand between them and their stories. So many bodies pressing up against Erics', he was always a bit shy and this seemed too much for him. He wanted to escape and find somewhere dark. Vulpamon was taking this just the opposite way. There were few things she valued more than her freedom of movement, and being boxed inside a human cage only drew out her anger. She could never strike though, to strike a human would mean to return to her old life.

"Quiet!" Vulpamon screamed out, waving her fist in the air. "All of you!"

That got their attention. They all took a few steps back and so many voices dimmed just a bit. Vulpamon herself was more surprised by the sudden retreat of her surrounders. In Tokyo or Paris, or any of the other cities Eric's adoptive parents dragged them to, such an action would only warrant a flinch, at most a few choice words of disapproval.

Eric shook his head. given some room to wriggle, his world now seemed a bit larger, as did his lungs. Eric was again aware of his situation. He opened his mouth to speak, when Vulpamon stepped in front of him, and spoke for him.

"Neither of us understands Cantonese, and we both speak only basic Japanese. If you want to ask us questions, do so in English."

The voices lit up again, the majority in English this time. Among the inane babble of the crowd Vulpamon managed to pick up someone asking why they chose to announce their arrival ahead of time.

"My tamer and I decided it would be better to face a prepared greeting than being recognized out of the blue."

"McCaige sir! McCaige sir!" Another of the reporters called out.

Eric stepped out from behind Vulpamon. Out of the corner of her Eye Vulpamon could tell that Eric was tense. She sidestepped and laid both her hands on his shoulders. That seemed to relax him. She knew he had a hard time speaking when he was tense like that.

"Yes?" Eric asked, a bit less confidently than he should've, something that suddenly became aware of when Vulpmon lightly dug her nail into his shoulder. Eric straightened his back and lifted up his chin before speaking..

"What do your parents think of the lifestyle you've chosen?"

"I don't know what they think of it." Eric answered. "I was adopted."

Both Eric and Vulpamon noticed at that moment that one of the questions was being asked in an american accent. It must've been one of the passengers. But that wasn't what got Eric and Vulpamon's attention, it was the question itself. Actually, it wasn't a question at all.

"Your sodomite ass is gonna burn in hell! Right next to your Digimon whore!"

Vulpamon only waved her hand at the American and two red suited airport workers stepped out of nowhere and dragged away the angry, balding old man, still shouting obscenities as he faded into the distance..

The press was struck silent by the display, as was the rest of the room. They stared at the old man, some with their hands over their mouths, others with their hands over the ears of small children. Still others dropped what they were carrying when they heard this man scream out what he did. Eric and Vulpamon looked at the man being dragged away, but the reaction of those around them soon got more of their attention. Everyone's eyes had gone wide as they stared. Not in America or Europe, or even Japan for that matter, would there be such a reaction to this kind of incident. What neither of them knew was that in Hong Kong such things as that man did, along with Vulpamon's earlier violent display, were unheard of.

With their composure slowly regaining, the first question asked by the press was, "Just how many Americans are like that?"

"More than the most of us would like to admit." Eric answered.

The press went on.

"Why did you come to Hong Kong? Is it because its reputation as a Digimon friendly state?"

"We were invited here," Vulpamon answered. "By who we do not know. It was my tamer who decided take the invitation."

"McCaige sir! Do you and Vulpamon… uhhh…"

"Make love?" Vulpamon finished what the press would not say. "Yes we do. Quite frequently actually.  
"Only written requests for interviews will be considered, and they will be accepted sparingly."

Vulpamon grabbed Eric by the arm and haphazardly dragged him through the crowd of press, who were intent of following the both of them from some distance. Eric almost tripped quite a few times from being pulled somewhere he couldn't see.

* * *

A ways away, in the market wing of the airport where another, much smaller and much more civil appearing group of reporters, as well as a few airport attendants were gathered next to the aeroponic kelp gardens where a curious phenomenon was taking place. 

The people stopped and looked out while a thick white fog rolled in from almost out of nowhere. Standing close enough, one could almost make out the tiny specks of color shifting light representing hexadecimal code. A digital field was forming.

This was a rare occurrence. Since the Hong Kong Gate was not under the lock of a firewall, Digimon came and went that way. If one didn't wish to emerge in the traffic of downtown Hong Kong, there were plenty of open Microgates throughout the urban sectors and rural outskirts of the city. Some of them even went unwatched.

The gates were such an easy way to travel to and from the Digital World that the only time a Digital Field formed close to an unsealed gate was during a brand new bioemergence. That was what was attracting the attention.

Onto a bed of soft, river rounded stones stepped a two little white pads for feet. Long black claws extended from those pads, only they were flexible, as if adapted to water. Out of the digital field waddled a little gray Gomamon. The Gomamon found himself surrounded by kelp hanging dangling in midair. It looked as if he was immersed in a forest of the fabric strips you find in car washes. The fog of the digital field gave an even more surreal atmosphere. The little stones clacked beneath the Gomamon's feet as it shifted its weight back and fourth. The Gomamon stood on physical stones. They felt somehow different from the stones in the digital world he came from. They weren't better or worse, just different. Everything felt different here, even breathing, but in a way that couldn't be explained. The Gomamon's senses were filled with this brand new information. The stimulation was tremendous.

"Wow!" the little Gomamon whispered to himself. "This place really is incredible."

The Gomamon sniffed the air to get the scent of the stones he was standing on and the kelp hanging from the ceiling.

The fog cleared a bit. The Gomamon saw figures walking toward him. They were humans. The Gomamon had no apprehension about the people nearing him. They dressed in red suits and nametags. Just a couple people in silver suits and cameras followed them, keeping their distance. They stepped inside the wooden box keeping in the stones and brushed aside the kelp as they approached him.

A middle-aged woman with her hair in a granny bun leaned over to wrap a red silk scarf around the Gomamon's neck, and then picked him up in her arms. He did not resist, in fact he seemed eager, almost stepping into her arms as she lowered them.

"Welcome to Hong Kong." The lady said as she scratched under the Gomamon's chin. The little seal Digimon smiled and relaxed in the woman's arms.

"I've always wanted to come to the physical world." The Gomamon said.

A distant noise caught Gomamon's attention and he tilted his head to get a better listen. It was almost a menacing noise, though the Gomamon showed no sings of unease. A few seconds later and the ears of the surrounding humans were able to pick it up. Rhythmic stamping started to fill the air, the stamping of hardened rubber against the plastic floor, with a few squeaks to add flavor. Boots, they were boots stamping in the distance, almost a dozen of them.

The People wandering the area knew what that sound meant. Most of them quickly disappeared from sight, or made themselves inconspicuous if they couldn't. Door to shops shut and locked, and their signs changed to _closed_. The reporters pushed themselves back against the wall, and those in the airport there to greet the little Gomamon vanished into the bathrooms, all except the the woman holding him, who clutched him tighter.

The Gomamon didn't understand this. He wasn't afraid, and could fathom why those around him would be. He tried to lift his head to get a better look and listen of just what was coming toward him. The woman shoved his head back down every time he tried, bringing out a deep irritated gurgle from his throat.

On the floor above was a secret watcher to the proceedings. He was a very Aryan boy of about forteen. He seemed out of place in the Hong Kong international airport, considering his spiked hair and getup of khaki cargo pants and a green Hawaiian shirt. The boy sat crouched behind a trash can looking down at the scene below through the plexiglass walls of the railing where the trash can was pressed against.

The boy looked through the scope of what appeared to be a fat submachine gun. Everything on it was rounded and there looked to be no moving parts, making the device look almost like a squirt gun. He zoomed right up to the Gomamon being held in the arms of the airport attendant. The Gomamon was on his back so enjoying having his belly rubbed by the human holding him. The boy zoomed right up the Gomamon's face, the target of the scope right between its closed eyes. He pulled the trigger. The scoped flashed black for an instant, and then the words _recording FMV, full audio_ scrolled across its inner display in bright red.

The boy heard the incoming bootstamps just as well as those on the ground.

"Here come the stormtroppas." The boy said with a distinctly Australian accent. "Right on schedule they are."

A head peaked itself out from the shoulder of the boy. It was a brown furry head with a long doglike nose, the end half of which was a bright yellow, but that was the only thing doglike about it. It's ears were huge and leaf shaped, each with one yellow horizontal stripe right in the center, and its nose had flared flaps of skin pointing straight up from its muzzle. The eyes of this head had crescent pupils, instead of a dog's round ones. The features of this strange Digimon all seemed like that of a bat when observed closely.

The creature clinging to the boy's back by its two clawed hands spoke into his ear with raspy, and yet somehow soft voice.

"I would think if there'd be any place these people don't have power, it would be here in Hong Kong."

The boy grumbled before answering.

"I told'ya before Chiroptermon, if these blokes can get their dirty work done in France of all places, they can get it done anywhere."

"Every year the UN tries to dissolve them." Chiroptermon continued. "It's beyond me why they don't."

"A police force has to answer ta someone." The boy responded. "The DRS aren't police they're a damn bloody private army. Tryin ta Dissolve them would mean declarin war."

"And why would the UN be so afraid of that?"

"They wouldn't, but the DRS is willing ta do all the cheap, degenerate crap their afraid ta. If they're gone, there won't be anyone left to do that kind'a work.  
"Here they come!"

The stamping of boots led to a small squad of five men. The men dressed in skin tight, full body hazmat equipment, looking almost like segmented wetsuits. Every convenient part of the suits were plated with polished green ceramic body armor designed to damped transfer of kinetic energy. No one could see their faces, as they all wore rather ominous tinted gas masks beneath full ceramic helmets. If their outfits weren't enough to confirm their identities, the words _Digimon Registration Service_ were embossed onto their chestplates in black lettering.

The woman holding the Gomamon set him down and looked worriedly at the men in their decorative shock armor and deadpan helmets. They gripped tightly at oversized clunky green-panted casings with with blackened polymer covering four twisted iron bars as barrels. They were semi automatic rail guns, twelve millimeter, capable of blowing a five centimeter wide hole straight through a half meter block of solid steel. It was vastly overkill for a little Gomamon like that.

The Gomamon yelped in its high pitched voice and hid behind the legs of the lady who was so affectionate just a moment ago.

"Stand aside woman." The one in front ordered, lifiting his railgun at her.

The lady didn't want to follow those orders, but she knew what happened to those who defied the orders of the DRS. She stood aside.

"Who are they?" The Gomamon cried out in panic.

"I suggest you cooperate with them." The lady answered.

The Gomamon waddled backwards, breathing too quickly to say anything, which only added to his fear. The five men in a perfect arrow form stepped up to the Gomamon. The one in front took one more step forward and held his railgun flat against his chest.

"We, the International Digimon Registration Service do hereby welcome you to the world where humans dwell. It is our sworn duty to ensure Digimon loyalty to the creed that under no circumstances whatsoever may any Digimon ever harm a human being, or through inaction allow a human being to be harmed."

"I wasn't going to hurt anyone!" The Gomamon shrieked out, trying to waddle further backwards, but tripping over his own feet.

"It is your sworn duty as a Digimon in the world where humans swell to be assigned a human Tamer to whom you will serve loyally and fondly."

"What? Tamer? I just wanted visit!"

"From here we will escort you to your place of temporary residence where you will stay until such a time as you are chosen as a subject by a qualified human beign."

"But I don't wanna be a subject!"

"Refusal of our creed will result in immediate termination."

They boy up watching from the next floor gripped his camera tightly with sweaty palms, recording as best he could with his quivering fingers. Chiroptermon clutched at his back so tight it drew blood as he focused his eyes and his ears toward the scene below.

"Termination?"

The Gomamon was now shivering and in tears. He shook his head and screamed.

"No! Get away! Get away from me!"

The Gomamon turned around and started hopping away, crying the entire time.

"Renegade!" One of the DRS troopers shouted.

The trooper in front took aim and let out a thunderclap from his railgun. The slug hit Gomamon right between the shoulder blades, punching a fist sized hole through him. The Gomamon screamed in pain before his voice turned to static. A blinding flash of light enveloped the room and when it was gone, there was nothing left of the gomamon except a burn mark on the marble patterned floor, and thousands of floating points of many colored light representing hexidecimal code.

Chirptermon moaned as if in pain and buried his head in the shoulders of his tamer. The boy, despite this, still held is aim at the scene with his camera, still recording.

"Particle Accelerator!" shouted the trooper in the front.

One of the other troopers released a large metal donut device like device from velcro straps on his chestplate and threw it at the lead trooper. The lead trooper caught it, flicked a switch, and threw it into the field of tiny white lights that were once the Gomamon.

In less than a second the lights were all sucked onto the particle accelerator where they dimmed until they became tiny black grains that fell to the floor.

The DRS troopers walked up to the device and the leader turned it off.

"Digimon terminated." The lead trooper said. "Data erased."

He picked up the device and brushed off the remaining black sand. He handed it back to his subordinate, who strapped it back to his chestplate. The troopers all left the scene, all but one of them who carried hand broom and a dustpan. He swept up the sandy remains of the Gomamon into the pan and dropped it into the nearest trash before catching up with the rest of them, but not before throwing the cameras of the press onto the floor, and smashing them with the butt end of his railgun.

Once they were gone, the Australian boy watching the scene from afar finally dropped his camera, tore off the lid to the garbage next to him and vomited inside. He knelt forward and his head hit the plexiglas railing with a thud. He slid down the plexiglass until he could no longer keep his balance and fell down onto his butt. The boy's arms shook and his eyes were dry and red.

Chiroptermon let his face out from hiding and looked over his tamer's shoulder to find him shivering.

"Are you alright Terrance?" Chiroptermon asked.

"Do I look alright to ya?" Terrance answered.

Chiroptermon nuzzled Terrance's cheek with his nose. Terrance lifted his face to Chiroptermon's to be greeted with a brief lick to his forehead.


	4. Eisode two, part two

**To My Readers:** At last I'm getting some reviews! I really appreciate it. It it wouldn't bother you all too much, I have a request of you. Can you tell others who you think might like this story about it?

* * *

A cobalt blue Rolls Royce drove up to the grand entrance to the main building of the Hong Kong International Airport. A Rolls Royce was hardly an unfamiliar sight on the giant concrete island. The airport had its own fleet of them, as did every other respected establishment and wealthy citizen in the city. No one had to tell you that there were more of those cars here per capita than anywhere else on Earth, all you had to do was look down any busy street and you'd come to that conclusion yourself. 

But this attracted looks, and not just from the tourists. This one was unusual in a few ways. Cobalt blue was an unusual color for a Rolls Royce here, as it was anywhere. The paint job must have been custom. Moreover, it an '09 model. Most of the Rolls Royce's one would find here in the island airport would all be modern models, and those from nice hotels would all be nineteen sixties classics, though with modern engines. Only private citizens owned such cars. Though for how unusual it was the real stares came when the red-suited Valet opened the back door and out stepped a little local girl.

She couldn't have been more than twelve, and there were no adults accompanying her. She brought with her only a small cream suede purse hanging over her side and a little red velvet covered steel briefcase she hugged like it was the most important thing in the world. Everything about this little girl seemed molded and pampered into the spitting image of perfection. Whether or not she approved of that was something not even she was sure about. From her custom dress shoes to her purple silk dress and dark mink skin mini jacket, to her perfectly movie star styled hair, and her makeup applied with an airbrush, everything about her reeked of high class lavishness.

Yet, as rich as the little Hong Kong girl must've been, her face didn't show it. There was a kind of forcefully subdued anger to her eyes, and the way she pursed her lips together.

Another passenger exited the back seat of the Rolls Royce. The Digimon was equally lavish as its tamer. It looked like a great, green breasted peacock standing over a meter at the shoulder, but with a parrot-like goldenrod head and neck extraordinarily larger than its earthly cousins'. It's black and green spotted wings faded into a bright red back, which in turn faded into a rainbow within its tail plumage that must've tipped almost three meters in the air when unveiled, which it wasn't at the moment.

The valet bowed to the little girl and her Digimon, which lowered its head to the ground in response. The girl did not, as she seemed lost in thought, staring into space. A slight nudge to the shoulder by her Digimon's beak and she shook her head and noticed the valet. She quickly bowed to him and left toward the airport without handing over a tip. The peacock Digimon sighed to itself silently, eyes closed, and took off after her.

The girl entered the main foyer of the airport building through one of a series of automatic sliding glass doors. There were so many people there walking about. There were Digimon of quite a few varieties, but nowhere near as populous, and they tended to keep still, unlike the humans who always moved from place to place. It was so crowded one couldn't reach one's arm out without touching someone. If she wasn't careful, the little girl could be swept up in the traffic. It was exactly what she wanted. There were few places even in the commercial districts of Hong Kong where it was easier to get lost than here. It was perfect. She ambled into the crowd clutching her velvet covered steel briefcase, soon disappearing from sight.

The bird Digimon ran inside after her. A swarm of moving bodies swallowed her. They swept her away and pushed into the side of a rock..

"Excuse me!" The rock shouted.

The bird Digimon gasped and her skin went cold until she saw the rock stand up into a small childlike figure with clear topaz spheres for eyes.

"I'm sorry." the bird Digimon said to the Gotsumon , lowering her head to the ground.

"Don't worry about it." The Gotsumon replied, waving his hand in the air.

"Have you seen a little girl in a purple dress and tan minijacket?" the bird Digimon asked.

"She's right over there." The Gotsumon pointed toward a wooden bench next to an escalator toward the back of the main foyer.

The girl sat there alone with her briefcase beneath the bench. She flickered in and out of sight as so many people talked by her. She had her head down looking at something in her lap, a piece of flat plastic it seemed from the distance. The bird Digimon knew what it was, but she had no time to worry about that at the moment. She took off through the crowd, being bumped from side to side by the legs of the passers-by. She reached the bench, out of breath, and with her feathers ruffled, but no injuries.

The bird Digimon took a minute to recompose herself and shake her feathers back into place. The girl shifted her eyes toward her for a moment before looking back at the minicom in her lap, with a photo on the screen that took up the entire device. She put her hand on the screen, but her face remained mask-like. The bird Digimon lifted her head to catch a glimps of the photo. She knew it well, and she knew mentioning it always upset her tamer, even though she looked at it so often. She had to think of something else to say.

"_What will this accomplish in your life?_" The bird Digimon asked in Cantonese. "_You are not being reasonable._"

The girl huffed loudly and shoved the photo back into her purse next to her on the bench.

"_Getting away from them is accomplishment enough._" The girl answered. "_My life is something I can worry about later._"

"_Wouldn't it be better to go back to the penthouse?_" The bird Digimon asked again. "_At least there you know what you have, and you know you can change things once you become the mistress._"

"_Thirty years is too long to wait to change things. That's not my home anymore. I don't have a home anymore._"

"_You should trust me more than that. I'm your Digimon._"

"_Peamon is not my Digimon. She never was, and she never will be._"

The girl jumped off the bench, quickly replacing her purse and dragging her suitcase out from beneath the bench. She ran off into the airport trying to loose herself in the mess of people, trying to loose Peamon. She knew it wouldn't work.Somehow, Peamon always found her when she ran away. Peamon sighed to herself again took off into the airport to look for her tamer once again.

* * *

A diner in a wooden cart was parked right between the bathrooms and the escalator to the second floor of the airport. Steam filled the air from its grills and baskets, along with the smells of fermented ginger and dark, salty sauces. The steam from the grill warmed one's hands and filled one's nose with the smell of comfort, much unlike the rest of the airport, which was kept at a chilly nineteen Celsius. 

The only person there, sitting on a stool at the counter in his plain gray suit was soon joined by a younger local girl in a purple dress and tan mini jacket.

A rather bitter looking Octomon holding large knives and pans in his tentacles glanced up from his work at the grill, and just as quickly went back to what he was doing. The owner of the stand sat in a metal foldout chair behind the Octomon in his white hat and apron reading the days news on a rather large sheet thin screen, leaving his Octomon to do the actual work of cooking and serving customers.

The little girl turned to look behind her. On the other side of the room were two DRS troopers with their green armor and railguns. They stared at her. There was no reason for the DRS to keep watch over her. They frightened her nonetheless, and for very personal reasons. She decided to act as if they weren't there.

The girl turned back and looked over the plates prepared for display under the glass counter. She pointed to one.

"_I'll have this one, and some tea_." She said in Cantonese.

The Octomon glanced up at her again before grumbling something and getting back to work.

The girl turned her head. The DRS troopers were still staring at her. Come to think of it, she hadn't noticed them until recently, so it might not have been her they were staring at. That still wasn't comforting.

A slight banging noise startled the girl and she turned around to find a square white plate in front of her with kabobs over rice and a bamboo cup pouring out steam. Quickly and a bit roughly, she tapped the index and middle fingernails of her right hand against the glass twice in thanks for the service. Octomon gave only the slightest nod and a look of frustration in response. She reached into her purse and pulled out a glass-like electronic card.

"Cash only!" The Octomon barked. "No cards."

The owner of the stand looked down from his paper for a second and then his face was hidden again.

"I'm sorry." The girl answered. "But this is all I have."

"My food now!" The Octomon retorted in a snap, and pulled back the plate and the cup.

Two fingers slapped down a two hundred Hong Kong Dollar Bill in front of the girl. This visibly startled both her, and the Octomon.

"This is for the girl's food, keep the change." Said the boy who sat next to her.

Startled he may have been, but the Octomon would not pass up this chance. He grabbed the bill and set the plate and tea back in front of the girl.

"You owe me one." The American boy said, sipping his own bamboo cup of tea, the only thing he had.

"What do you want from me?" She asked him.

"To know a bit about yourself." He answered.

"What makes you so curious?"

"Well, if I'm reading the signs correctly, it looks to me like your trying to run away from home."

"What makes you say that?"

"You pulled up in a fancy car, you're wearing expensive clothes, and that's a diamond card you were using."

"So what?"

"So…" The boy took another sip of his tea before continuing. "You obviously come from a rich family, and girls as young as you from rich families don't wander alone around airports alone unless they're trying to run away."

"Don't get involved." The girl said, trying to be menacing.

The American boy clearly wasn't menaced.

"I'm just saying you should be less conspicuous."

"What?"

"Using diamond cards and fancy chauffeur services? Your family, and I'm guessing it's your family you're running from, can track you down in minutes if you're doing that."

"They won't track me down." The girl growled back. "They won't want to after what I said to them."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that if I were you." The American boy said, before taking another sip of his tea.

"Stay out of it!" The girl snarled out at him.

"_There you are!_" Another voice called out in Cantonese.

The girl and the American boy turned around to see who it was, even though the girl already knew. Peamon ran up to the girl and stopped to catch her breath when she just a few feet from her.

"I though I told Peamon not to follow me when I leave her." The girl said.

"You know as well as I that such a thing is not going to happen." Peamon responded. "The city is a dangerous place for such a young lady as yourself. I need to be by your side at the very least to protect you."

"Yeah, I guess so." The girl grumbled, and at last picked up the chop sticks on her plate and started to pick at her kabobs.

"Who are you?" The American boy asked.

Peamon looked up at him and lowered her head to the ground. The American boy nodded his head back. Peamon spoke when she lifted her head back up.

"I am Peamon sir. This exceptionally young lady is my tamer, Parsley."

"Your name is Parsley?" The American boy asked.

"My father wanted to name me Malt." Parsley answered.

The boy sat with one eyebrow raised for a few seconds before Peamon cleared her throat, drawing his attention back to her.

"It's a naming convention in Hong Kong which you Americans do not share." Peamon commented. "People are often named after plants, stones, articles of clothing-"

"I get it." The boy interrupted.

"Hmmp." Peamon snorted. "And another Hong Kong convention is that interrupting others is rude."

"Sorry." He said, lowering his head a bit. "My name's Eric."

"It is a pleasure to meet you Eric." Peamon said, lowering her head once more.

"I told you splitting up would be a good idea."

All three, Eric, Parsley, and Peamon looked to the side of the cart to find a very tall navy fox leaning against one of the stand's corner spokes.

"Didn't I say they wouldn't recognize us so long as we're apart?" Vulpamon asked.

"Yes you did say that." Eric answered. "And you were right… as always." The last part he grunted out under his breath. Vulpamon heard this anyway and laughed under her own.

Peamon and Parsley both stared at Eric and Vulpamon. There was something incredibly familiar about the two of them, but neither of them could place just what it was.

Vulpamon smiled lightly at Eric, then she looked at his two new associates, and her attitude changed completely. Her eyes narrowed and her body stiffened. Her smile turned instantly into a short, vicious scowl and she stood up as straight and tall as she could.

Eric saw her change in attitude, but he didn't need to. He knew it would happen, it always happened when there were other people with them. She would become cold, standoffish, and antisocial. Eric didn't like this, but he understood it, and he accepted it. Vulpamon glared at the Hong Kong girl and her Digimon. This had happened enough times before that Eric knew exactly what it meant.

"That's a local rich girl named Parsley. She's running away from her home. And that's her Digimon, Peamon." Eric answered.

Vulpamon's only response was a shift of the eyes toward Eric, before they settled on the DRS troopers staring at the cart from across the hall.

"They've been watching me ever since I came into the lobby." Eric said.

"Same here." Vulpamon replied briskly.

"You're the one they're staring at!" Parsley yelled out, getting the startled attention of both Eric and Vulpamon.

"Uhh… yeah." Eric responded.

"Parsley," Peamon pleaded. "It is impolite to yell."

"Peamon does not tell me what to do." Parsley snapped back.

Vulpamon eyed Peamon curiously, seeing the subtle anguish in her posture.

"So why are they watching you?" Parsley demanded of Eric.

"Uhhh…" Eric answered, blinking. "It's a… a stupid stunt I pulled on TV that's all."

"Stupid stunt?" Parsley whispered. She stood up and started to speak loudly. "You're the boy who-"

"Shhh!" Eric shushed loudly, putting one finger to Parsley's mouth. "The boy who made out with his Digimon on international television. And that's the very same Digimon. Her name's Vulpamon. We're trying not to attract attention to ourselves."

Peamon was stunned into silence. She stared at Vulpamon. Vulpamon stared right back. Her eyes narrowed a bit further, looking at Peamon.

"What troubles her?" Peamon asked, trying to be as polite as possible an avoid asking _what's wrong with her_.

"She doesn't like people." Eric answered. "And she would appreciate it if you left it at that."

Peamon bowed her head slightly.

"May I get you two something?" Parsley asked, a wildly enthusiastic look on her face.

Parsley's attitude had just taken a almost as drastic as Vulpamon's. Learning who Eric and Vulpamon were, everything about her persona lost its tension and a relaxed smile now covered her face. This was strangely both confusing, and to be expected by Eric and Vulpamon.

"What's with the sudden wave of friendliness?" Eric asked.

Parsley froze in place and her heart sped up just a bit. She didn't want to answer that question, and she didn't have to. Parsley was saved from the unwanted task when in that instant another person sat down between the two of them. He was a little blond haired, blue eyed boy who, compared to most people walking around the airport, looked like a homeless kid with his Hawaiian shirt and cheap sneakers. It certainly didn't help that there was what looked like a giant red and yellow bat clinging to his back, who's arms and legs wrapped around his shoulders and chest. The giant bat had long, raptor-like legs, a white striped chest, and what looked like dark blue Celtic tattoos on his wings.

"Gooday mate." The boy nodded at Eric. "Gooday m'am." He nodded at Parsley. "I'll've a green tea alright." He said.

He tossed a twenty dollar coin onto the counter, quickly snatched up by the Octomon. The Australian boy talked fast, but at the moment there was an inflection of fatigue and gloom that showed through its speed. If his voice wasn't enough, it was clear from the way he held his head down and never looked at anyone when he talked.

The bat Digimon lifted his head onto the boy's shoulder and glanced over at him.

"Why do we keep doing this?" The Digimon asked like someone who had given up all hope. "What are we ever going to accomplish?"

"I dunno." The boy answered. "But we gotta keep doin it, that's all I know."

"Excuse me sir, but who are you?" Parsley asked.

"Who me?" the boy asked rather annoyed. "The name's Tripp, Terrance Trip, this here's me best buddy Chiroptermon." He finished, rubbing the bridge of Chiroptermon's muzzle with two fingers.

Parsley looked at this boy in wonder. He was amazing. In the middle of the world's most embellished and snob ridden city, this boy would dare to ware things like a grass stained Hawaiian shirt, cheap, dirty sneakers, and cargo khaki's with holes in the knees. This boy would parade around the airport with, of all things, a giant bat, and keep his personal belongings in a old canvas bag that looked like it was going to fall apart. And what a crude hairstyle he had. It was amazing. It was unlike anything Parsley had ever seen before, and it was mesmerizing.

The Octomon dropped a plain porcelain cup in front of Terrance and poured in a steaming hot liquid. It didn't look like green tea. It was totally opaque, as dark as food coloring, and had the consistency of vegetable oil. Terrance looked a bit curiously at the liquid in front of him for a few seconds, before figuring this was just what Hong Kong green tea looked like, which it did. He picked up the cup carelessly and dumped the entire thing down his throat in one huge swill. As soon as he was finished, Terrance wheezed and doubled over as if he were just hit in the diaphragm.

"Are you okay?" Chiroptermon asked over Terrance's shoulder.

"Bloody friggin hell that stuff's strong!" Terrance barely managed to sigh out.

"Yeah." Eric responded. "I noticed that when I first had some. You get used to it pretty quickly."

What kind of words were those? Parsley stared at Terrance in wonder. How carelessly this boy used slang, how much he had to over express himself. He embodied the opposite of everything she was trying to get away from. Terrance turned his head slightly to Parsley, noticing her staring at him with a blank expression.

"Yes?" He asked a bit harshly

"How is it that you are so easily able to overlook appearances?" Parsley asked back.

"Why shouldn't I?" He answered, shrugging his shoulders.

Terrance clearly didn't understand the question. That just made him even greater.

Peamon understood exactly what was going on. She forced herself between Parsley and Terrance, and looked up at Terrance grimly.

"Pardon me sir Terrance," Peamon said. "But I might humbly ask you to keep a certain amount of professional courtesy and well as professional distance from young mistress Parsley."

"Whatever ya say m'am." Terrance quickly responded. Again, he clearly didn't understand what was being implied.

"Peamon does not tell my friends what to do!" Parsley said.

Peamon pressed her eyes shut and clenched her beak. She had lost track of how any times her tamer had personally attacked her in this hour alone. This had long ago become a ritual, but that didn't make it hurt any less. Terrance and Chiroptermon both looked down at her, unsure whether or not she was trying to hold back tears or shouts.

"Hey!" Terrance and Chiroptermon spoke up at the same time. "You should treat your Digimon better that that!" Chiroptermon finished.

"Peamon is not my Digimon." Parsley said.

"Well you should still treat her better than that." Chiroptermon snapped back.

"I believe I am entitled to such." Peamon added.

Eric stared partly in awe and partly in unease at the argument that had just broken out. He felt Vulpamon's breath on his ear but didn't flinch from it.

"Perhaps you should butt in." Vulpamon whispered.

Eric nodded his head slightly.

"Uh, Terrance." Eric spoke up.

The argument stopped and Terrance, Parsley, Peamon and Chiroptermon all turned toward Eric.

"What's that you were saying about having to go on?" Eric asked.

"Oh that!" Terrance answered. "It's nothing. It's a hobby me buddy and me have we uhh… we follow around the DRS and…"

"Isn't that dangerous?" Peamon and Eric both asked at the same time.

"Well," Terrance answered. "It's not as dangerous as it is, uhh."

"We don't want to talk about it." Chiroptermon spoke up.

"Well, I guess that's the end'a that." Terrance sighed. "So what's your name sheilamon?"

Vulpamon stood up straight and stiff as a board, leering at him threateningly. Terrance shifted in his seat as he looked back at her. He wasn't used to such a reaction, and it made him uncomfortable

"Errrr. Alright." Terrance said nervously. "So what's her name?"

"Her name's Vulpamon." Eric answered. "She's not very social."

"I can see that." Terrance responded. "Wait a tic. Vulpamon? That means you're that bloke who."

"Yes, yes," Eric said. "That's me."

In a flash of movement Terrance reached into his canvas bag and pulled out what looked like a large gun. Vulpamon's eyes went wide. In an instant she threw Eric from his seat onto the floor and smacked Terrance's gun from his hand. Vulpamon grabbed Terrance by the shirt and lifted him up to her snarling mouth.

Something flew at Vulpamon like a bat out of hell, which wasn't far off. Before she could see what just happened, Chirptermon's teeth were clamped shut around her muzzle, digging into her flesh and letting blood drip to the floor, which evaporated into tiny points of light on impact.

"That's right! You show that bitch!" Terrance screamed out, eliciting many gasps from the surrounding crowd.

Vulpamon, hiding her pain quite well, grabbed Chiroptermon's jaws and tired to pry him off her face with her arms. It was no use, Chiroptermon's jaws were too strong. Vulpamon let go and then drove her nail straight into a soft spot between Chiroptermon's shoulderblades. It worked, Chiroptermon released his grip on Vulpamon and shrieked like a tortured hawk as he fell to the ground on his back.

Vulpamon lifted Chiroptermon by his sternum and threw him forward, but he only righted himself in midair and flew right for her.

_SONIC MINE_

Chiroptermon screamed a tone that sounded like that of a tuning fork. The light in front of him distorted and looking through it seemed like looking through water, but without the glare. The distorted light seemed to be in the general shape of a football, and it was hurtling right at Vulpamon. She had less than a second to leap out of the way of its impact.

The ball hit, unleashing the sound of a sonic boom, deafening all onlookers and knocking Vulpamon off balance. She lifted herself back up as soon as she hit the floor and looked at the spot where the impact had taken place. The crater the ball of noise left was almost a meter wide, and a third meter deep.

Peamon got up in front of Parsley and pushed her back into the wall away from the fight .

Vulpamon stared in shock at the destruction that Chiroptermon was able to inflict. In her distraction, she didn't notice another ball of sound flying at her. When she turned her head, it was too late. The ball hit Vulpamon in the chest, unleashing its sonic boom and sending her flying through the air. Vulpamon too, was able to right herself and kicked off the side of the escalator toward Chiroptermon. She flattened her hand and thrust I out right in front of her.

_RAZOR HAND_

Chiroptermon saw this, and just before she could strike him. His body shined and then took on the appearance of mercury. Chiroptermon faded away until he could no longer be seen. The disappearing act took less than half a second.

_TRANSLUCENCE_

Vulpamon was caught off guard and swung her hand back. It struck the front two spokes holding up the diner cart, slicing them clean in half like a sword, and dropping the roof into the Octomon's head.

A second later, Vulpamon caught a gleem of light shining behind her. She knew instantly what to do. She spun around on one foot and swung her arm out in front of her.

_RAZOR HAND_

The swing made contact with Chirptermon's chest, knocking him off balance and sending him spinning to the ground. Drops of blood flew from Chiroptermon's wound hitting the floor, and a disconcerted Eric, before evaporating into points of light a few seconds later. Chiroptermon stood up growling with a still slightly bleeding slash mark on his chest.

_GALE CUT_

Vulpamon spun rapidly on the ground, lifting one foot up to her other knee, and then bent over swinging her arms out in her final spin. The motion sent a screaming, scythe-like blade of what looked to be a white cloud twirling toward Chiroptermon. It was about to hit him in his wing. Chirpoptermon folded his wing around his chest just in time as the cloudlike blade whirred past him and hit the neoplast floor with the sound of an electric saw trying to cut through metal.

Chiroptermon took only an instant to glance back and see what kind of damage that strange attack did. The sounds did not fool. The gash in the floor, and the shavings scattered about looked just like someone had taken a circular saw to it at a bizarre angle. He turned back to Vulpamon, determined to disable her somehow.

_VERTIGO KEY_

Chiroptermon lifted his head into the air and hummed an excruciatingly loud tune reminiscent of rubbing the rim of a wine glass. Vulpamon's world started to spin inside her head. A horrible headache was building up inside her, pulsating in sync with the rhythm of Chiroptermon's hum. She started to see flashing lights blurring her vision. Her feet began to give way beneath her. She was slowly loosing all equilibrium. Suddenly, Vulpamon couldn't tell which way was up or down, and it felt like she was being thrown up into the air like a bullet. She fell over onto her stomach.

Chiroptermon stopped humming as soon as she fell over and heaved over desperately gasping for air. Vulpamon rolled about groaning and grabbing at the air in front of her as if trying to discover where she was. Chiroptermon was starting to take slower breaths. Vulpamon's head was beginning to clear, and she felt the pull of gravity in its true direction. Chiroptermon took one last deep breath to reinvigorate himself, but it was too late. With a shake of her head, Vulpamon was able to regain her composure before he. She jumped up and charged him with her teeth bared and her flattened arm held out to her side. She was about to strike when something knocked her off balance again.

Both Vulpamon and Chiroptermon were thrown back onto the floor by the shockwave of a small explosion. the blast didn't come from either of them. Vulpamon groaned and pushed herself back up to see a five centimeter hole in the ground with blackened edges.

"A railgun?" Vulpamon whispered to herself.

Chiroptermon stood up with his claw to his temple, shaking his head to get out all the disorientation. He turned his head to the side to feel a gun barrel pressed against his nose and a very angry looking gas mask with red helmet staring him right in the eyes.

"Don't you make a single move." The DRS Trooper ordered.

Chiroptermon stared cross eyed at the barrel, wanting to nod his head, but afraid to considering the trooper's words.

Vulpamon turned around to see another DRS trooper pointing his railgun at her. A slight reddish hue to her vision meant he had his sight right between her eyes.

Eric and Terrance both got up to survey the scene. There were smoking holes and clean gashes in the ground. The disgruntled Octomon peered out from the collapsed roof of the diner cart, while it's owner peered out from behind the cart itself. Everyone in the vicinity had stopped and was now gathered as a large circle around the scene, staring at it in horror yet insatiable curiosity.

A third DRS trooper, railgun in hands, walked up to the scene and turned his head one way, then another.

"Who started this?" He yelled out.

"He did!" Terrance shouted, pointing at Eric. "His sheilamon just by out an' attacked me from the blue!"

"Hey!" Eric shouted back. "You pulled a gun on me!"

"It was a bloody camera bye crikey! I was tryin' ta take ya picture!"

"How the hell was I supposed to know it was a camera!"

"Shut up the both of you!" The trooper yelled. "Okay, now this is what's going to happen. The two of you are going to make up like friends and then find some way to come up with the money to pay for the damage you caused and then we'll act as if this whole thing never happened. Or you don't, and you'll both be flogged for property destruction and your Digimon impounded and destroyed."

"I don't have that kind of money." Eric said, shaking his head.

"Don't look at me." Terrance said.

"I can pay for that."

All three DRS troopers lowered their weapons and looked off toward a little girl who had entered the fray while none of them were looking. She walked up to the lead DRS trooper and pulled a golden electronic card from her purse, different from the one she tried to use at the kart, and handed it to him.

"Take whatever you need, and then mail it back to its owner." She said.

"Will do." The trooper replied with a nod.

The lead trooper clasped a hand in the air, and all three of them trotted off through the crowd.

As soon as the troops were gone, Vulpamon and Chiroptermon ran to there tamers and wrapped themselves around them, both giving the other Digimon angry looks.

"Are you okay?" Vulpamon asked, resting her chin on Eric's head.

"I'm fine, thanks." Eric said. "Yo, Terrance. You could've told me that was a camera."

"I was tryin' ta get a shot of ya with a great face alright, alright." Terrance sighed. "Ya know, like the ones in the tabloids?"

Eric stared at Terrance motionless and breathless. This made Terrance uncomfortable.

"Look, I'm sorry 'kay?" Terrance said, scratching the back of his head. "I learned my lesson."

"I sure as hell hope you have." Eric responded. "Parsley I guess now I owe you one."

"Take me with you." Parsley said.

"On one condition." Eric said

"Yes?"

"Take us out to eat somewhere that accepts cards."

Parsley nodded her head. Eric and Terrance both stood up and as Eric walked away, Terrance stopped in front of Parsley.

"Thanks a bunch miss." Eric said, scratching the back of his head.

"Really." Chiroptermon added in. "We see every day what the DRS are capable of."

"It was no trouble at all." Parsley responded, bowing slightly.

Everyone began to walk together, deeper into the airport. The only ones to stay behind were Parsley, Peamon, and Vulpamon, who exchanged further angry looks with Chiroptermon as they passed each other.

"You should not associate with these people Parsley." Peamon said. "They are dangerous. You should go back to your parents, you have a promising, and not to mention safe, life with them."

"Peamon does not tell me who I can associate with." Parsley grumbled. "And I'm never going back to my parents."

Parsley took off running after the group. Peamon sighed and shook her head. She let a single tear fall from her eye down her beak before skipping ahead to them, but her path was blocked by Vulpamon's leg.

"Why does your tamer refer to you in the third person?" Vulpamon asked in a voice that sounded more like she was giving an order. In fact she preferred not to ask at all, but her curiosity got the best of her. Her harsh voice at this point was the only way to maintain her distance.

"It is a very long story." Peamon answered. "If I tell you any more than that she is very upset with her family, and that I symbolize them, she would be almost as upset with me. Now if you will excuse me, I must see to her protection."

"Why do you do it if she treats you so badly." Vulpamon asked again.

Peamon sighed.

"Because it is my duty."

Vupamon brought her leg back and allowed Peamon to run back toward the group,staring at her the entire time.


	5. Episode three, part one

**Story notes:** This is the third episode. The second part of the third episode is when the story will truly begin to take off. I don't yet have enough reviews to do a review response though.

**To My readers:** I made a slight mistake in my llast episode. They don't speak Mandarin in Hong Kong, they speak Cantonese. I've fixed that in this episode. Also, see how much showing of Hong Kong and Chinese culture you can spot here. Believe me, there's plenty.

* * *

The scenery surrounding was a drastic and much welcome change from the previous. The party of six sat at an enormous round table in its own private area of the restaurant, elevated by a single step. It wasn't quit a room since there were no walls, only rails and columns of stained black wood hand carved into unnecessarily complex designs. The chairs were equally elaborate black wood with cream leather seats and backs. Bright red carpet led up to red and gold lined velvet tablecloth sticking out from underneath a glass lazy susan. It was real glass, which was a rarity nowadays and could only be ordered custom. Behind them was their own private coral aquarium for viewing, and to the side three men in old red Victorian suits played soft celtic sonatas for all the guests with two fiddles and a harp. It was nice at first but after a time it became rather irritating. An ornate chandelier hung above the table and a private waiter stood like a statue in the corner of the pseudo room. It all seemed like overkill, at least to most foreigners, but the Hong Kong locals would expect nothing less. It was the fanciest restaurant in the entire airport. It was simply called, _Grand Fish_. 

Eric sat rather uncomfortably in his chair, constantly shifting his position and turning his head every which way. Such an upper crust atmosphere gave him a slight weight in his stomach, and clammy hands. What made it worse was that Vulpamon didn't sit next to him, or even at the table, or even in the area. Eric glanced over at her constantly. She stood with her arms folded leaning against a corner of the wall at the bar, her eyes half closed. It seemed that in many situations he depended on her presence to avoid anxiety. Eric's eyes shifted toward the aquarium. He watched the rainbow of fish and crustaceans scurry about whatever they were doing. He thought maybe that would relieve some of the tension of this anally refined place, but it didn't. Eric was so used to chain diners and out of the way family restaurants. This wasn't what he had in mind when he asked Parsley to take them somewhere that accepted cards.

He had to say something to break the unease. It didn't matter what it was.

"Why is everything so… red?" Eric asked, still turning his head every which way.

"Red is the color of joy." Parsley answered.

"Uh-huh."

Eric figured that must've been a Hong Kong thing. After a moment though, he thought it more likely a Chinese thing in general. The question worked though; he wasn't quite as antsy as he was before.

Parsley nodded her head and looked down at the three glasses in front of her. One tall glass goblet was filled with ice water, a small porcelain cup with no handles was filled with tea, and a third, particularly small wineglass was filled with a clear, light wine. She took a sip of the wine.

"Aren't'a a bit young ta be drinkin'" Terrance asked suddenly, seeing the glass at her lips.

"Am I?" Parsley asked.

"There are no laws regarding alcoholic beverages in Hong Kong." Paemon spoke out. She too sat in a chair, just a tab uncomfortable for a body of her kind, but she had been taught to do at a very early age.

"Really." Terrance replied. "In that case don't mind if a'do."

Terrance grabbed the glass of wine in one hand, his other draped over the top of the chair, and took a rather large sip.

"Alright." He said, smacking his lips. "Stuff tastes like cashews."

A slight _Hmmm_ sound escaped the flared nostrils of Chirptermon. Chiroptermon sat with his chair inverted, back facing the table, and his body leaning against it. With his body, bat-like and raptor-like, it was the only way for him to sit comfortably in a chair. Terrance's aloof and laid-back outlook had certainly taken its toll on him.

Chirotpermon reached over the seat with both his arms, wrapping both his two fingered hands around the wine glass and poured the entire thing down his throat.

The waiter in the corner was instantly on Chiroptermon to refill glass.

"This stuff really does taste like cashews." Chiroptermon said to the waiter.

"It is made from cashews." The waiter replied, bowing his head slightly before walking right back to the corner of the area.

Terrance was just the opposite of Eric. He couldn't care less where he was or who was surrounding him. Nothing would ever get in the way of his casual nature. He glanced up at the two people seated next to him. Peamon stared at his with a face of disapproval while Parsley stared at him with a face of awe.

"Som't'n wrong?" Terrance asked, shaking his head.

"You are using your left hand." Peamon said.

Terrance glanced down at his wine glass. He was indeed holding it in his left hand.

"So ah am." Terrance replied.

"That is not proper etiquette." Peamon said back.

"Peamon does not lecture my friends on etiquette." Parsley sneered.

"Hey!" Chiroptermon shouted out suddenly. "I don't care if she's not your Digimon, Peamon's still a person and you should treat her better than that!"

"Probably." Parsley muttered in response.

"Is she a bad person?" Eric asked.

"No." Parsley sighed. "She just reminds me of bad people.  
"I'm sorry." she sighed, lowering her head,

"Just what did her parents do to her?" Eric whispered into Peamon's ear.

"I am sorry McCaige sir," Peamon answered, bowing her head. "but she made me promise not to tell anyone."

Three more servers in their joyous red suits approached the private dining area. They carried huge dark wooden bowls pouring out steam, three total, and six smaller terra-cotta bowls. The waiters lined up next to each other and all bowed, still holding their trays with bowls, and set the larger bowls down on the lazy susan, and each of the smaller bowls in front of each seat. Everyone was given both chopsticks and spoons.

The bowls, huge bowls, each had a different kind of soup. One was a semi-sweet reddish soup filled, vegetable strips from a peeler, and an assortment of small crustaceans, shrimp, squid, and several things that couldn't be recognized on sight. The second soup was black as ink, with thin, noodle like strips of what looked to be fish, except fish usually couldn't hold itself together in such long, thin sections. The third soup was a plain, clear tan broth filled with baby greens and some kind of boiled grain, obviously a vegetarian alternative.

One tray of the three had still not been unloaded. The third server stepped forward with his tray on which were three very large bottles. The server bowed before speaking.

"Here are the beveragess you requested for your guests madam Lao." The server said, revealing each bottle from its red cloth wrapping as he did. "New forty four Bargetto Pino Gris, Barcelona Creamers vanilla hazelnut liqueur, and our special house turtle spirits."

One by one the server opened all three bottles with a very antique looking wood and rod iron corkscrew, and placed them all on the lazy susan, along with an assortment of glasses of various shapes and sizes.

The server stepped back in line and bowed once more. "Grand Fish apologizes in advance for the meagerness of your feast, but it was the best we could do on such short notice."

"Meager?" Chirotermon said rather loudly. "I've never seen this much food in an appetizer!"

"You said it mate." Terrance added in, shaking his finger at Chiroptermon.

Terrance glanced back at the server, noticing that he and Chiroptermon were being given a rather curious look. Terrance gave a curious look right back. He looked back to Parsley and Peamon. Peamon had her head down and almost seemed like she was wincing. Parsley on the other hand, visibly tried to hold back a giggle.

"I don't get it." Terrance said, shaking his head.

"It's nothing." Parsley answered. "Don't worry about it."

The servers turned around and walked out of the room in a synchronized march, all except one who stood at its entrance as if he were a guard.

The lazy susan went around as the time passed. Everyone had their fill of the soups. The second course came. There were several bowls of vegetables, all separate, each with their own side tray of sauce, and few of them clearly recognizable as anything but close relatives of familiar vegetables. There was a whole duck with sizzling blackened skin, drenched in hot smelling black sauce. Peamon could not look at the duck without giving a kind of look, too obvious to be a squint, too subtle to be a wince. It was especially apparent seeing Chiroptermon eating slices of duck with his bare hands, for his little two fingered palms could use neither chop sticks or silverware. Either the distress was very mild, or Peamon did a good job of hiding it, as she said nothing. There was a huge whole fish mostly resembling an elongated catfish, baked and then shallow fried in a light rice batter, and presliced into convenient portions. Then there was cousin of lobster, which looked mostly like lobsters, except they had long limbs with feelers in place of claws, and their tails curled upward and narrowed into a point. Though it all looked very alien, it did not look unappetizing, yet there was one person who found that it was.

Terrance and Chiroptermon scarfed down as much as they could as fast as they could, almost making a competition with each other over who could eat the fastest, all the while talking about the amazing things the two of them have filmed. Things like, parades, waterfalls, exotic monuments, unnecessarily large explosions. Then there were the darker things, video tours of gathering holes for the homeless, among other things, and most recently their hobby of recording the _greetings_ given to newly bioemerged Digomon by the DRS.

Parsley and Peamon did not eat as much. Peamon ate only the vegetables, and having no digits, had to pick them up in her beak. Parsley loaded up her plate but largely ignored it. Only occasionally did she take a bite to eat, not even paying attention to what she was doing, while listening keenly to everything Terrance and Chiroptermon babbled out.

Eric did not eat. He had a bowl of soup before, just enough to take away hunger, but even though there was so much room left he couldn't bring himself to eat more. All this exotic and extraordinary food in front of him and the thought of eating it gave an uncomfortable feeling of his stomach solidifying. At first he thought it was because of the exoticness of the dishes before him. Later he realized it was the setting. This radically fanciful place was still getting to him. Eric kept his cool in so many situations, being disowned, being attacked, yet being in places like these made him timid and cramped. Eric could handle conflict just fine, but not strange social situations with strange people.

Eric looked up at Parsley, still looking intently at Terrance.

"So you're journalists." Parsley said.

"Well… nah." Terrance replied.

"We're gonna' be journalists someday." Chiroptermon added in.

Parsley used her chop sticks to tear off a strip of duck from the thigh on her plate, and stuck it in her mouth, never looking down at what she was doing.

Eric looked over toward the bar. Vulpamon still stood in the corner, and still in the exact same confined pose he last saw her in. Just being in her presence was usually enough to give him the confidence he needed to get through such situations. For a moment Eric wondered if Vulpamon knew that just taking a seat next to him would allow him to eat and to mingle. She probably did, but she had social issues herself, ones even worse than his.

Eric stood up out of his seat. Parsley, Peamon, Chiroptermon and Terrance all stopped what they were doing to look up at him.

"Excuse me," Eric said softly. "I'm going over to the bar, this place is a bit stuffy for me."

Eric walked out of the private dining area, not even noticing the sever who stood guard outside giving him a nod as he left.

Terrance looked over at Eric's plate, still full.

"Guy doesn't have much of an appetite does he?" Terrance commented.

"Actually," Chiroptermon replied. "I think he had heat exhaustion."

Eric walked past the many tables serving many guests. He seemed tired, somehow drained. He only focused on what was right in front of him. He almost dragged himself as he walked. He also wasn't exactly sober.

Eric attracted stares from the other customers. He associated himself with such strange people. Eric took no notice, and continued to walk forward. He hit his shoe against a single step, paused, then stepped over it from the red carpet of the dining hall to the dark stained bamboo floors of the bar. Eric lifted his head.

A soccer game was being played in real time on the huge widescreen monitor mounted above and to the side of the drink shelves. Sports and news were the only things ever shown live any more. All other shows were downloaded to disk for a small fee, or by subscription. From what little English was being displayed, the only information Eric could get was that it was Hong Kong vs Shanghai, a heated match indeed.

Eric looked over to the side. Vulpamon was still there, still in the same pose, only now with her eyes shut. He walked over into the shadows, stood by Vulpamon, and leaned his head against her shoulder. Vulpamon did not move, except to speak, and only loud enough for him to hear.

"Back from the land of the living?" She asked.

"Don't joke." Eric whispered, shaking his head.

"You would say I was being callous and selfish by standing here alone instead of next to you, except for that you know I do just as poorly in these situations as you do."

"You're not on the run any more Vulpamon." Eric said as he tried in vain to wrap his somewhat small hand around her very large paw. "You don't have to be the iron razor any more."

"Psychology is the study of the irrational. You're words mean very little Eric."

"Irrational…" Eric whispered. "Maybe that's why I came here."

"Myabe that's why I let you."

"If there was any sense in either of us we'd have moved straight to Holland after our little stunt at Sky City Two."

"If there was any sense in either of us we would never have pulled that stunt in the first place."

"If there was any sense in either of us," Eric sighed. "we would never have gotten involved with each other."

"And that's why I don't like being sensible." Vulpamon sneered.

"Same here."

Eric breathed deeply. His hand released its grip from Vulpamon's and it, and its arm, wrapped itself around her arm. Vulpamon never was able to tell if Eric would do unconsciously, or on purpose, and she never asked. Either way, it was a clear signal to her that he needed reassurance. That was something she was always happy to give.

Vulpamon brought her head down slowly and gently pressed her cold nose against his cheek. She slid it down, past his cheek, past his jaw, down to where his neck met his shoulder. This place, its royal formality, and its blueblood snobbery all fell away from Eric at that moment. Being nuzzled by Vulpmon's nose made him feel perfectly at home, as if he were at a roadside diner where they served oversized burgers and chicken strips, and the only code of formality was no shirt, no shoes, no service.

"Remind me never to let Parsley choose where we eat again." Eric said in between a talk and a whisper.

Eric felt an especially strong breath on his neck, telling him that Vulpamon had laughed at what he said. She ran her nose back up his neck. It was different from before. It was much larger and warm, but still wet. It took Eric a moment to realize that it wasn't Vulpamon's nose, but her tongue that was dragging itself across his skin. He gave no visible reaction though. Invisibly, it sent a wave of pleasant cold up his spine, into his scalp, and into the hairs on his head. Vulpamon's toungue stopped at Eric's jaw and pulled back into her mouth. In all this time, Eric had not even noticed the Vulpamon's arm had freed itself and wrapped all the way around his far shoulder, with her paw resting on his near. He felt her breath against his ear, still warm. Her mouth had to be close.

"Are you going to go back to your table." Vulpamon whispered into Eric's ear.

"Only if you come with me." eric answered. "Or if they stop playing this damn music."

Eric felt another especially hard breath against his ear. He had managed to bring another laugh out of Vulpamon. Once was difficult, but making her laugh twice in a row in a public place was unheard of. Maybe it was because of the shadows and the corner that this place felt private, even though it probably wasn't.

Vulpamon brought her muzzle back down to the crook of Eric's neck, and again dragged her tongue back up. They stayed like that, for how long neither of them could tell, Vulpamon holding Eric against her and licking his neck, releasing all the tension this place had built up inside him.

Some noise brought both of them out of it and back to reality. Someone had cleared their throat right in front of them. They looked up. Parsley stood staring at them only a few feet away.

Vulpamon didn't hesitate to release her grip on Eric and stiffen up into her militant stance with her militant leer, right into the eyes of Parsley. Parsley seemed unmoved by the gesture, or maybe she just wasn't paying attention.

"How long have you been watching us." Vulpamon asked in her standard both infuriated and yet entirely relaxed voice.

"Long enough." Parsley answered.

"What would you do if you ever lost Vulpamon." She asked eric.

Eric blinked several times, pausing before answering.

"I try not to think about that."

"At least you have the luxury." Parsley replied.

Parsley looked down at her side. Eric looked down to where she was looking. Peamon stood right beside her, with her head slightly down, slowly shaking back and fourth, her eyes closed.

Parsley looked back up.

"You don't have much of an appetite do you?" She asked Eric.

"Well, I usually do" Eric answered. "but today just seems to be different."

"That's perfectly alright." Parsley said smiling. "Terrance and his Digimon can eat like pandas, so they can easily fill in for you."

Parsley turned around and walked back out to the entrance of the bar area. She seemed ready to return to her table until Eric stumbled by her into the bar with Chiroptermon clinging to his back.

Terrance stumbled into the bar slightly hunched over. He looked as if he was seasick, and Chiroptermon didn't look much better.

"There's somethin' seriously wrong with the waita's hea!" Terrance groaned out with his hand over his stomach.

"Uhhh…" Was all Eric could get out before Terrance stumbled his way right in front of him and started babbling more.

"Whenever I finish somethin', they bring more of it!" Terrance shouted out.

"It's great isn't it?" Chirptermon shouted even louder than Terrance.

Terrance winced and stuck his pinky in his ear.

"Watch it there mate!" He squawked. "Ya' mouth is right next to me ear."

"Well it was still great."

Terrance chuckled under his breath.

"That's not what you was sayin' at the table." Terrance continued to squawk. "If I see another plate of food for the rest of the day I'm gonna' toss it all! That's what I heard."

"What other restaurant will feed you until you hurl?" Chiroptermon asked, throwing his wings out into the air, and almost falling off Terrance's back before grabbing his shoulders again and scrambling to get a firm hold again. "No other restaraunt!"

"No otha' restaurant indeed." Terrance huffed. "What's with these blokes anyway?"

"If you want them to stop serving you, just stop eating."

Chiroptermon turned his head around to look behind him just as Terrane turned around, leaving him looking right back at Eric and Vulpamon. Chiroptermon turned his head back forward.

Parsley and Peamon stood right in front of him. Though, having not paid attention to the voice, it was difficult to tell which one of them said it.

"Now they tell me." Terrance grumbled, hitting his palm against his temple.

A seemingly unanimous groan from the customers at the bar got the attention of everyone in the party.

"What?" Terrance asked. "What'd I say?"

"It wasn't what you said," Peamon answered. "The soccer game was just interrupted."

Everyone looked up to the huge monitor mounted off the ceiling. The soccer game had indeed been interrupted, and from the nature of the interruption, Grand Fish soon went silent. Even the music stopped.

The only sound was a man's voice in Cantonese narrating seemingly homemade footage. The camera shook uncontrollably, and little could be told about what was going on except that the person behind the camera was running through dirty alleyways trying to get away from something. The person behind the camera was running from some fast moving object. Was it a Digimon.

It was! As the camera caught a clear view of its pursuer, it was clearly an Elecmon, the short, stubby, half mammal half amphibian Digimon. The Elecmon were ancestral Digimon, Rookie level, with rabbit ears, a frog like face, and cherry red skin. They were famous for their joviality, but this one seemed anything but jovial. Something was terribly different about this one. It foamed at the mouth, and its skin had darkened and dulled into almost an ugly brick red and brown.

The most striking feature of this bizarre Elecmon though, was its eyes. It wasn't that the eyes were wide beyond what seemed natural, or that they were mindless like a rabid animal's. What was most bizarre was that the eyes of this Elecmon had no iris or whites. The eyes were solid black everywhere. They didn't even glisten. They looked like spheres of charcoal.

"Does this things have English sub-captions?" Eric yelled into the restaurant.

Secconds later, words in English began to scroll along the bottom of the screen to accent the footage and narration.

_…the first time the phenomenon known as Digimon Madness had ever been captured on film. The attack took place right outside Hong Kong's main harbor._

"That happened here?" Chiroptermon whispered.

_Researchers are scrambling to study the footage for more insight into the disturbing phenomenon, and local police are cooperating with the Digimon Registration Service to track down and destroy the berserk Digimon._

Peamon shuddered and ruffled her feathers at that remark.

_From the footage, it would appear that many of the signs and symptoms of Digimon Madness, once only rumor, are true. The appearance of the afflicted Digimon changes drastically, and the apparent behaviors, the blacked eyes being the most notable. The behavior of the afflicted Elecmon, similar to that induced in animals by rabies, seems to be evidence in favor of the theory that Digimon Madness is caused by a kind of digital infection._

_ Rumors that Digimon Madness only affects ancestral Digimon, leaving new Digimon lucid are at this point still rumors. The rumors that a supposed Digimon Madness virus was created by Digimon misanthropes to spawn public fear of Digimon are also little more than rumors at this point._

_ Researchers say nothing more can be learned for sure about this appawling phenomenon until an afflicted Digimon is captured alive for study. And if the Digimon Registration Service has its way, the hope for a live capture would seem unlikely at best._

The footage ended with the mad Elecmon pouncing at the camera holder, and the camera being knocked to the ground. The only view was of a brick wall, while screams from the victim, and maniacal laughter from the Digimon filled the room. Blood spattered against the brick wall, and the screaming stopped, but the laughter did not.

Vulpamon grit her teeth and squeezed Eric's shoulders, trying to find some form of comfort from what she just saw.

The monitor went static only for a moment, and then cut back to the soccer game as the Hong Kong team had just scored a goal against Shanghai. No one cheered though, not after what they had just seen.

"I wonder…" Terrance whispered.

"Wonder what?" Eric asked.

"I wonder if that's why I was invited here, to see this. They must've known I've always wanted to be a journalist. That's why they invited me here."

"Who invited you?" Eric asked again.

"Hypnos." Terrance said.

"Hypnos?" Parsley, Peamon, and Eric all said simultaneously.

"But Hypnos doesn't exist anymore." Peamon finished.

"That's what I though before they invited me and Vulpamon here." Eric said.

"They invited you?" Chiroptermon asked, clearly shocked.

"Did they give ya' the same brown package?" Terrance asked. "With the tickets and the fancy card?"

Eric nodded his head, and the pointed to the worn pair of goggles he wore just above his forehead.

"They sent ya' those to?"

"That was the reason I came here." Eric said. "These are Takato Matsuda's goggles."

"The great Takato's goggles?" Parsley shouted.

Eric only nodded again.

"What about you Parsley?" He asked.

"I just ran away is all." She answered, shaking her head. "But wherever you two are going, take me with you!"

"Parsley!" Peamon protested. "These people were obviously chosen to undertake a dangerous task and you should not get yourself involved with them."

"Peamon does not tell me what to do!" Parsley growled. "I'm coming with you people, and nothing you can say will make me change my mind."

"That's fine." Terrance said. "But first, I really need a drink."

"We all do." Eric responded.

The soccer game continued, but no one paid attention to it, and the music never started up again. The first footage of Digimon madness was all anyone in Grand Fish could talk about, that, and the three children with and their Digimon, one already an international celebrity, getting involved in an organization that was supposedly dissolved over twenty years ago.

The hours went by and the atmosphere did not become any less somber. The music never even started up again. The three children and their Digimon drank progressively more until the sun set through the genuine glass windows of the restaurant.

The children and their Digimon only left after two men in plain suits showed up at the entrance to Grand Fish with sings in English of _Eric McCaige_, and _Terrance Tripp_.

Too drunk to know any better, they all followed the men into an awaiting Rolls Royce limousine just outside the grand entrance to the airport's main terminal. Parsley and Peamon were only taken along after some protest.

* * *

Eric slowly awoke to the smell of burning incense. He tried to lift up his head only to have it fall back down from a pulsating headache. Eric visored his eyes with his hand and opened them. Thankfully the room he was in was suitably dark. What light there was seemed to flicker in brightness, and shadows rippled across the ceiling. Only candles made that kind of light. 

The ceiling was painted gold with plain composite beams running across it, unpainted and unlaminated.

Eric felt behind his head. It was resting on a satin pillow. He was laying on a plain twin sized bed in the corner of a small room, and covered with an equally plain blanket. There was something missing. Eric felt around the bed and then onto the floor for his precious goggles.

A soft, furry hand placed the goggles in his. Eric squeezed the hand.

"Vulpamon?" He whispered.

"I am afraid not."

The voice that answered was childlike in one way, yet raspy and a bit deep. It sounded friendly though.

Eric took the goggles and laid them on his chest.

"Vulpamon is sleeping in the room next door." The voice spoke again. "I gave you and your companions all injections of anti-intoxicants. Otherwise you would be so hung over you wouldn't even be able to understand what it is I'm saying."

"Where am I?" Eric asked.

"You are in a monestary on one of the outlying islands of the city. A limousine dropped you off here. I could smell the alcohol seeping from your pores. We put you all to bed in our dorms."

Eric started to push himself up, only to find the return of his pulsating headache. Eric cringed and slowed down his movement, it helped, but not all the way.

"You really need to pace yourself when it comes to drinking."

Eric turned his head around to look at his host. Though his vision was double and only slightly blurry, he could still clearly make out a Gazimon standing in front of him, a Gazimon in a thin yellow hemp robe.

"I'm in a Bhuddist monestary?" Eric asked.

The Gazimon smiled and nodded his head.

"Why would they bring us here?"

"Most likely to kill me." The Gazimon answered.

"Kill you?" Eric asked.

"I have Digimon Madness."

Eric eyes went wide and for a few seconds he stopped breathing. Digimon Madness? He had just come from watching the only known footage of the condition, and now he was staring it down. But wait. There was something wrong. The Gazimon seemed fine.

"It will not be necessary for some time though." The Gazimon continued. "It will not take effect until the day after tomorrow."

"How do you know?" Eric asked.

"I can feel it inside me."


	6. Episode three, part two

**Story Notes:** Damn! It's been a long time since I've updated. Have any of you ever had a bout where for weeks on end you simply couldn't bring yourself to write? That's what happened to me.  
This chapter is very long. It also consists of mostly short scenes. It wasn't intentional, it just kind of evolved that way.  
For those of you who also read my Lilo & Stitch fics, I'm going to spend some time away from Gems of Tommorow to write a shorter fic called The Fall of 625. It's a rewriting and revisioning of another fic that I thought had an excellent premise, but was just incredibly too short. It will be about as long as The Only Thing worse than Dying, so it shouldn't take me too long to write.

* * *

This was not something she liked. That's what she would have said, and it would have been the understatement of the day. In reality it infuriated her. She had long ago mastered the fine art of looking completely sober when in reality she was plastered. But the end result of excessive drinking was something that could never be avoided.

Vulpamon was in that limo, her head tilted totally back against the seat cushion and her arms wrapped around Eric who leaned against her asleep, though not deliberately. He would've fallen to the floor if it weren't for her. Terrance and Chiroptermon were two of the worst chatterboxes she had ever heard, and if it weren't for her state of suspended awareness it would've taken all her might not to lash out at them. Parsley and Peamon largely kept to themselves on opposite sides of the car, both looking out their respective windows.

That was what she remembered, and vaguely at that. Where she was now she could only guess. She stood in the corner with her arms folded, surveying the scene before her. Plain stucco walls, an even plainer full sized bed in the corner with a cheap headpiece made of bent brass tubing, composite beams supporting the slanted roof, also stucco. There was the slight scent of sweet and spicy incense. Only a small brass lamp on a tiny, empty desk lit the room. The place was generally square and there weren't many decorations. This was probably a religious domicile of some kind. Buddhist and Taoist immediately came to mind.

As for her actual location, she couldn't even speculate. Vulpamon hated not knowing where she was. That it was her own damn fault didn't help matters much. The total lack of control she had over the situation she was in made Vulpamon's stomach turn. At least she still had control over herself. However…

There were no sounds indicating the shuffling of feet to be heard, and the smell in the air suggested that the last person there had left more than six hours ago. Vulpamon was convinced that there was minimal risk of being disturbed by anyone or anything. Self-control was not a necessity in total privacy. Vulpamon began to relax and let go of her inhibitions.

Vulpamon uncurled her arms and hunched forward slightly. She noticed then a mild headache just above her eyes. Her vision was also just the slightest bit blurry. Actually, she'd noticed it before, but she assumed it was from her body clenched tight in its stance. It apparently wasn't, another unfortunate side effect of excess drinking. But her symptoms were far too mild; she drank far too much. Vulpamon reached down to her side and felt a tiny ache on her left hip. Someone must have injected her with an anti-intoxicant, the over the counter kind that didn't work completely, but also didn't give you enflamed sinuses.

Vulpamon had taken a syringe in her sleep. That was the grossest violation of her need to be in control. There was no one here. It was safe. Vulpamon did something then that she would never do in front of others, not even Eric. She let her head fall until she caught it with her hand, and began sobbing.

It's ok so long as no one's there to see it.

Despite appearances, Vulpamon felt quite good at that moment. Her shoulders shivered violently. She pressed her paw into her face as hard as she could as her eyes wetened both her cheeks and her palm. Her breathing stuttered just as violently as her shoulders. Crying was a luxury she rarely afforded herself. At one time there was a very good reason for this, though now it was just force of habit that she had a hard time letting go of.

Then there were footsteps. They were soft and far away, but they were still enough for Vulpamon to hear. Someone was coming. For most people it took several minutes to purposefully quiet from a sobbing fit, for Vulpamon it was only seconds. She stood up straight, wiped her face clean, folded her arms back and narrowed her eyes at the door for whoever might come through.

She was hoping whoever it was would just pass by. She had no such luck.

The handle turned, and the door opened. It opened quite fast. Whoever was behind it was fairly exited, but not too exited, as it didn't fly open.

Vulpamon would've reacted in someway to seeing Eric of all people, except for she knew there was someone else with him.

Eric walked rather briskly up to Vulpamon and wrapped his arms around her waist. She reacted only to lower one arm to rest on his shoulder. He'd been used to the cold response for a long time by now.

"Where am I?" Vulpamon asked across the room harshly, but still quietly.

"You're in a Buddhist monastery on a small island on the outskirts of the city." The Gazimon answered. "There's not much else here except a tiny dock fishing town and a bean farm, but you're both welcome to stay as long as you like."

"Why was I brought here?" Vulpamon demanded again.

"That can wait." Eric interrupted.

"I don't like waiting." Vulpamon huffed back.

"Well you're going to have to."

Vulpamon lowered her head to look at Eric. Him putting his foot down to her about anything was a rare sight to behold. Vulpamon usually didn't object too much though, since it was such a rare thing.

* * *

"For about twenty years now, this monastery has served as a place of refuge for Digimon whom no human wanted to register." The Gazimon said as he led Eric and Vulpamon down a narrow yellow hallway into what could only be described as a rec. room.

There were no couches or chairs. Seats were all ridiculously large pillows. Less than a third of the floor could be seen as the scratched up bamboo it was. The rest was covered in a strange pattern of plain red and green rugs. There were coffee tables, shelves filled with useless toys, books and Chinese board games. There was a monitor in on corner of the room hooked up to a Playstation Gamma, and a laptop in the other hooked up to a drafter –3d printer–.

"The monastery registers them as an organization and they stay here," The Gazimon continued. "unless a human comes by wanting one, but the Digimon has to agree to it, unlike how the DRS works. When that happens we just transfer the registry and wish them good luck. I was one of the first Digimon ever adopted into this place, and right now the Digimon here outnumber the humans!"

Eric and Vulpamon looked around. What the Gazimon had said was true. There were a few children, teenagers, and a majority of adults among humans, but the Digimon outnumbered them all almost two to one. Looking at the Digimon though, it wasn't hard to figure out why they were not wanted by _normal_ people. An ancestral BlackAgumon played a pachisi-ish game on the PSGamma against a human child and a new Lampramon, which looked like a three foot, dark green eel with tendril hands and a sucker mouth. A DemiDevimon tucked away from the group scribbled busily on a compy, though what exactly he was doing couldn't be told. Sleeping on one of the pillows was a green ancestral Dokunemon, a very close relative of the Wormmon. Sitting on one of the coffee tables, sketching on pencil and paper was an ancestral Keramon. A Keramon's appearance could only be equated with a cross between a cartoonish ghost and a Giger statue. It was a smiling balloon like head attached to a coil of floating tendrils and two bone thin arms with hands larger than its body. The whole thing was a midnight blue.

"All the Digimon that are hard on the eyes." Eric whispered.

"It's the literal truth." Gazimon answered. "Unfortunately there is a still a mass who equate us Digimon with animals, and most people think judging by appearance is ok when the judged aren't really people."

"Even those who claim to love Digimon are too often prejudiced against them." Vulpamon added in.

"Well…" Gazimon commented. "Not all of them."

Eric and Vulpamon looked over at Gazimon who nudged his head toward a far corner of the room. Their eyes followed.

There, curled up against several large pillows was Parsley, and something else. She had her hands around it and was pulling it against her torso as hard as she could. It wasn't clear weather or not she was asleep, but it was clear that she had been crying earlier. Her cheeks were red and flushed. What she was holding so protectively against her looked almost like a giant, three foot ant with an olive green carapace.

Even Eric had a somewhat difficult time wondering why a little girl would be cuddling so tightly with a giant insect.

Eric pulled out his D-Arc, shining stealth black all over, and sent a beam toward the pillows where Parsley and the strange Digimon were laying.

_Formimon... the ant Digimon... New... Rookie... Virus..._

The information scrolled across Eric's D-Arc. Although he knew now what the Digimon was, he was no closer to understanding why Parsley would seem so taken with it.

Eric glanced around for Peamon. As he figured, she was right there in front of Parsley, keeping a distance of no more than ten feet and no less than five. She was always at arms length from Parsley. Parsley never let Peamon get any closer, which made seeing her so close to the Formimon all the more confusing.

Eric started to walk over toward Parsley. Vulpamon's eyes trailed him but she made no attempt to stop him.

"You probably shouldn't do that." Vulpamon whispered about Eric, but to herself, as it was too quiet for him to hear.

Eric continued walking over to Peamon, and had almost reached her when he felt something smack gently into his legs. He looked down to see Peamon with her wing outstretched, blocking his path. Peamon shook her head at Eric with a look of disapproval on her face.

"I was just going to ask why she was–"

"Don't ask." Peamon interrupted Eric. "It would upset her, and this is the most content I've seen her in a long time."

"You're that concerned about her?"

"We'll it also makes things easier on me." Peamon answered, turning her head to the side.

"Why doesn't she just ask to keep him?"

"She's too proud."

Eric and Peamon turned back toward Parsley. She did indeed look content. Seeing her closer, Eric could tell that she was asleep as well.

Something rammed into Eric's leg. He turned his head down to find a bright blue gecko-esque thing with glossed black eyes, red stripes, and a fat tail staring back up at him.

"You can't run forever Skinkmon!" A voce was heard from the hallway connecting to the rec. room.

"Yes I can!" The skinkmon yelled pack in its rather annoying squeaky voice. "You're never gonna' tag me!"

Eric grinned on one side with rather mean idea. He reached down and picked up the Skinkmon, holding it above his head.

"Hey!" The Skinkmon yelled. "What are you doing?"

"Saving you." Eric answered smugly.

As expected, a little girl with her shaved head and yellow robe came running in after the Skinkmon. She stopped and looked up and Eric, holding it above his head, and frowned at him.

"Put him down this instant!" The girl demanded, throwing her hand toward the ground.

"Actually if you could give me a toss." The Skinkmon butted it. "Straight up would be good."

Eric nodded his head to the side and threw the Skinkmon straight up. The Skinkmon did a backflip in mid air and stuck to the ceiling.

"Not fair!" The girl yelled.

The Skinkmon just stuck out its fat black tongue at the girl. She growled and pointed at Eric.

"You suck!" She yelled one last time before running back down the hall.

Eric stared for a moment before looking back up to the ceiling at the Skinkmon.

"Who taught her that?"

"I did."

"You're a bad influence."

"Yeah, I probably am."

And with that, the Skinkmon scurried away.

Eric watched the Skinkmon waddle on four feet until yet something else ran right into him, almost knocking him over. Eric spun around to find Terrance with his camcorder and Chiroptermon clinging to his back as usual. All three of them were shocked into just a moment's speechlessness at what just happened.

"S'cuse me." Terrance said, and turned back around, pointing his gunlike camera at the heated battle taking place in the world of the monitor.

"We all think of the strange and exotic and alien when we hear about places like this." Chiroptermon spoke into a microphone budding out of the camcorder. "I guess it just goes to show you that in reality there's no such thing. I can't tell you if this is a bad thing or a good thing, only that it's the truth."

"And cut!" Terrance shouted, flicked off the camcorder and dropped it to ground. It landed with a pop and a thud.

Terrance stretched his arms out and yawned.

"That's that then."

"What the hell did you just do!" Eric yelled, flailing his hands about.

"Uh, wha?" Terrance responded, spinning around on one foot. "Oh! That's a story wea' sendin' to the college back at Newcastle."

"Yeah!" Chiroptermon added in. "And it's a good one too!"

"No!" Eric yelled back. "I mean the camera! Why'd you drop it?"

"Oh no worries there mate," Terrance blew him off. "the thing's tough. 'Sides I still got that headache from last nights' boozehoundin'. I'm goin' off ta bed."

"Me too." Chiroptermon added in.

"Well I've got a better story for you." Eric said.

"Yea'?" "What?" Terrance and Chiroptermon both answered at once.

"You know the Monastery adopts unwanted Digimon? And most of them are unwanted just because they're not eye candy. It'd be a great bigotry piece."

"Dammit!" Terrance and Chiroptermon shouted simultaneously.

"Now we gonna' have ta pick up on that track again!" Terrance finished.

Terrance and Chiroptermon grumbled as Terrance bent over to pick up the camcorder. He flicked it on and started walking through the room while Chiroptermon continued his commentary into the microphone.

"On the surface, all Buddhist monasteries look the same. Maybe they are, but that's not the point."

"Blooddy friggin' hell!" Terrance blurted out. "Ya' call that stuff newsworthy tucka'?"

"No." Chiroptermon replied. "But I tried."

"Well try harder next time!"

Eric shook his head in tedium. Now that those two were out of the way, his curiosity over Parsley stymied, and there were no more locals to deal with, Eric was left to his senses. His senses immediately reminded him that he'd drank way too much yesterday. He still had a slight headache and the tiniest bit of blurred vision, something he didn't notice a moment ago as he was too busy. Eric squinted and pressed his palm against his temple. Now what Terrance had said about going to bed seemed appealing. Even though Eric had not been up more than two hours, he was wasted psychologically.

Eric lifted up his head and scanned around for Vulpamon. He found her walking down a hallway toward the dorms. He ran to catch up with her.

Eric walked side by side with Vulpamon down the narrow hallway, doors on either side of them with gold paint words on the sides in Cantonese, which neither of them could read, although both knew from memory where their rooms were. Eric wrapped both his arms around Vulpamon's one that was closer to him. Vulpamon turned her eyes toward him and then turned them back.

"You're going to be too I see." Vulpamon spoke softly.

"How would you figure that?" Eric asked.

"I'm going to bed, and you're clinging to me."

"Well I don't like sleeping alone."

"The beds here are rather small."

"I can manage. Plus I can't really handle such an eventful day with a headache. That and I've been wanting a little something to make me feel better."

Vulpamon stopped suddenly. She turned toward Eric and jerked her arm out of his grasp. She gave him a look of a combination of anger and disgust. Eric always hated that look. It made his hands clammy and hairs stick up on end. He swallowed his spit.

"Are you suggesting we commit fornication on holy ground?" Vulpamon said in the most dire and ominous of tones.

This really made Eric uncomfortable, and frightened. He knew of her temper all too well. Though he knew she would never raise a hand to him, he also knew what she was capable of, especially after she feels she had just taken offense to something, and the illogical part of his brain was sending out fear signals.

"Uhhhh…" was all Eric could utter.

Just as quickly, Vulpamon grinned at him. In a blur of movement too quick for him to react, she had reached behind Eric and shoved her arm underneath his jacked and shirt, and her hand was now grabbing at his back.

"I accept."

That was surprising.

Even so, Vulpamon's tail gave away her sincerity. It swished back and fourth slowly, only occasionally whipping to one side. Playfulness was one of many things she was willing to show only in front of him.

* * *

A beam of light shined down on Eric's closed eyelid. With it came a slight warmth and just enough stimulation to wake up. Eric opened one eye. The beam of light caught the dust in the air, of which there was plenty. Something was a bit amiss. He had expected to wake p to a comforting weight wrapped around him from behind, but it was absent. Vulpamon was gone. She woke up before him and left for somewhere.

Eric shifted his eye over to the floor. All of his clothes were thrown into a messy pile in the corner. His D-Arc, alongside his all in one computing and communication device, a palm sized flat rectangular box called compy, were thrown ontop of them.

There was something he'd thought to ask her last night about their surroundings, but it would've ruined the mood. With his headache gone and his mind fresh, it was the perfect time to bring it up to Vulpamon, only she was somewhere else. Now he'd have to go looking for her.

It was the last place he'd thought he'd find her, but he'd already checked everywhere else. He'd never expected to find her here just because it was always so full of people.

Eric opened the large double doors to the main meditation chamber. The smell of incense wafted into his nose instantly. It was a bit stronger than in the dorms. The room was a bit dark since there were only candles along the walls, and no electric lights.

An orange carpet led up about twenty feet to a small three foot Buddha statue carved of wood atop a large block draped over with red fabric. It was chipped and tarnished from age.

To the left and right of the carpets were the meditators. Few of them sat on the floor alone. Most either sat on, or leaned against the many giant pillows in the room. A monastery caring for forsaken Digimon is one thing, but it surprised Eric to find that Digimon made up the majority of those meditating in the room. It was the nature of the religion not to separate anyone or anything into distinct categories. Such was seen as a thinking error. Following that train of thought it was only natural to assume one would find Digimon working right alongside humans in every task from the most meager to the most vital. It occurred to Eric that not once at this monastery had anyone even shown the slightest hint of curiosity about a human and a Digimon sharing an intimate relationship. This was probably one of only a handful of places on Earth where humans and Digimon could share every aspect of life without attracting attention to themselves. This was an ideal place.

The room made Eric's mind go off on tangents. He could ponder philosophy all he wanted later. Right now he had more urgent matters at had.

Eric walked forward slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible so not to disturb those in the room. That was a moot point. Everyone seemed like statues there. They probably wouldn't break out of meditation unless he grabbed one and spoke directly to his or her face.

Eric panned over the room. There she was, standing in the far corner with her arms folded as usual. Eric walked up to her.

"Why are you–"

Before Eric could say any more he felt a largue, furry finger pressing against his lips.

"Talk softly." Vulpamon whispered before releasing Eric's lips.

"Why are you here?" Eric whispered back. "I mean in such a crowd, you hate crowds."

"It's different when they're all keeping still and to themselves."

Eric nodded his head and continued.

"I was thinking."

"Yes?" Vulpamon replied, opening her eyes.

"We've been neglecting my training for the past week."

Vulpamon nodded.

"I think this may be the perfect atmosphere to catch up some." Eric whispered.

* * *

The entrance to the monastery was the only flat ground there was locally, and it was a good thing they could find it. Eric wasn't ready for a slant.

From the outside the building looked like a quiet old rural elementay school with half the building having only one story. The walls were treated fiberboard panels painted plain brown, while the regional terracotta tiles fit to the slanted roof like scales. Only the traditional upturned ends set it apart from the urban development in the main city. There wasn't even a walkway to the front door, except for a trail through the forest. Only the large, covered wooden patio spanning the front of the building was flat enough for Eric's task. That, and it was starting to sprinkle. The atmosphere was indeed ripe for training. Being in a lowland forest of a small island on the deck of a building that, despite its simplicity, keeps a tremendous oriental aura about it gave a feeling of the esoteric to an American. This place was no better or worse than anywhere else, but the placebo effect is strong, even when you know its happening.

Eric grit his teeth slightly, wriggling his body to keep his balance. His arms partly extended and he wore a plain white blindfold, trying all the while to keep his breathing steady. This wasn't an easy task seeing as how he was balancing atop a soccer ball that was ready to slip out from beneath him at any moment.

Vulpamon circled around him casually, sometimes taking a moment to turn her head toward him. She walked silently with her arms resting behind her back. Her tail was motionless except for the slightest swaying caused by the rest of her body movements. Vulpamon's expression was distinctly different now than when she was normally alone with him. It was something dire, serious, and purposefully intimidating at that. She looked at Eric now like she normally looked at strangers. There was good reason for this though. Now was the time for business.

The soccer ball beneath Eric's feet started to move to one side. He wriggled a bit harder than usual trying to readjust it. Vulpamon saw this out of the corner of her eye and her tail swished to the left once. She stopped to the left of him.

"Breathing comes first, balance is secondary." She began to speak. "Do you what profiling is?"

"No." Eric whispered back, causing another slight turn in the ball, and another particularly hard wriggle to correct it.

"Profiling is when you change the pace and depth of your breathing constantly to match your actions." Vulpamon continued. "Profiling not only compromises your balance, but can be read by your enemies and used to tell what you will do next.  
"You have already mastered form Eric, but form alone does not make a great fighter. From now on, during our sparring sessions, I will cease to teach you form, and begin to teach you how to cease to profile yourself. Now back to balancing.  
"With the exception of attacking, your weight should always be even placed on both feet. Furthermore, your weight should be spread evenly throughout the foot. No part, heel, middle, ball, or toe should support any more weight than any other. Balance will not come naturally from this, but it will come more easily."

Vulpamon circled around Eric a few more times, looking down at his feet and knees, before stopping again on his right side and speaking once more.

"Good.  
"You are spreading your weight evenly. But you do this now because you are told. Always remember, being taught the methods of the matiral arts will actually make you a worse fighter than you were previously. This occurs because you must think about what to do beforehand. Only when you employ these methods without even realizing that you are is when true skill will begin to emerge. So never use a method in an actual fight until it has become second nature to you, otherwise it will put you at a distinct disadvantage.  
"Now try only one foot."

Eric, slowly as a cloud, started to shift the position of the soccer ball so that his right foot was nearing the top. Then he could lift off his other foot while shifting the weight of his right foot to bring himself vertical to the ball again. After that, he had to even it again as Vulpamon had instructed him. He put his left foot to his ankle and angled the bend of his leg straight out to the side. There was more wobbling, but he regained his previous composure, and them started to even out his breathing.

Vulpamon's tail wiggled in anticipation as she watched.

"Nicely done." She said. "Now for a point I've reiterated many times, but you cannot hear it often enough. There are these funny things inside your mind called feelings. The more sophisticated of us like to call them emotions. But whatever the name, there comes a time and place for them.  
"In this life Eric, you will travel back and fourth between two worlds, the world of fighting and the world of living. Feelings can enrich the world of living to no end, but they have no place in the world of fighting. When your life and health are on the line and your fists are the only tools separating a healthy body from an abused dummy, feelings will serve only as unnecessary distraction. Always remember, feelings are for the world of living, not for the world of fighting.  
"Oh and one more thing!"

Vulpamon leaned over close to Eric, close enough that he could feel her breath against his ear.

"Let go of all expectations." She said. "Expect nothing, and the unexpected will never happen."

Vulpamon stood motionless for a few seconds before parting her lips slightly and blowing against Eric's ear. Eric's torso swerved to one side while his arms and legs swerved to the other. The soccer ball slipped out from beneath him and he fell down, expecting to land on his stomach on the cold, wet wood. Instead he landed gently in the arms of Vulpamon, who stood less than a foot from him.

"You didn't expect me to do that." Vulpamon said, almost giggling.

"Actually I did." Eric said, taking off his blindfold. "But I knew I wouldn't be able to take it."

"When you're able to remain utterly motionless on a ball you'll be able to take allot more than air against the ear."

Vulpamon lifted Eric to his feet, who promptly replaced his blindfold and etended one weightless foot onto the soccer ball, steadying it, and ready to jump back on.

"Actually we've had enough of that for today." Vulpamon spoke up.

Eric took his foot off and turned around, also taking off his blindfold to look at Vulpamon.

"I think we'll handle with your toughness for an hour or so."

Eric nodded.

* * *

The rain was a bit stronger now than twenty minutes ago, but it was still dry enough to be outside with no more than a jacket.

A fist wrapped in elastic padding, wrapped in linen bandages hurled itself against the side of a large evergreen tree. It struck with dull thudding sound and a light crackle as bark flew from the wood through the air. A sound halfway between a painful grunt and a growl accompanied the blow. A second later, the other fist impacted the tree, along with its own thud, crackle, and grunt/growl.

Eric's face was red and soaked from sweat rather than rain. Eric brought his fists against the tree over and over again. Though the padding prevented his hands from tearing open, the impacts still strained his muscles and vibrated his bones. His hands hands had gone numb some time ago, as had the skin on his upper arms, but he still felt in his radius and ulna, rattling against each other in excruciating pain. He would loved to have stopped, but he was driven to persist by flashbacks of being beaten senseless by two bit thugs in some back alley on the streets of Paris. He launched his fists against the tree once again.

Vulpamon watched from a few feet away with her arms crossed, and smiled with a kind of smug pride.

Eric now sat on a plain wooden chair, cross-legged, grabbing tightly at handrails. He was now thoroughly drenched, water dripping from his hair. His face was bright rose red and trembling, although he kept his expression tightly sealed.

Vulpamon stood in front of him with that same harsh look, holding out a charged sick stick. It was a very low setting, so it did would not cause vomiting or feinting, but it still wasn't pleasant.

"Inhale!" She barked like a drill instructor. "Tense! Exhale!"

She pressed the sick stick into Eric's abs and he cringed over and gnarred in pain as hot ions were sent shooting through his body. Although it was a very low setting, so it did would not cause vomiting or feinting, Eric's body still reacted as if he had been rammed by a wooden plank.

"Inhale!" Vulpamon ordered again.

Eric righted himself and filled his lungs.

"Tense!"

Eric tightened all the muscles in his torso as hard as they could get.

"Exhale!"

And she jabbed with the stick again.

Eric Hunched over and grit his teeth, trying as best he could not to scream. Tears streamed down his cheeks from the agony inflicted by Vulpamon's device. There was nothing at that moment he'd loved more than to call it quits, but he was pushed by memories of the parking lot in Tokyo Sky City II where he was bested by students of some big city commercial dojo touting billboards and for dummies training manuals.

* * *

The front door opened to the monastery, where in the main foyer only a few people and Digimon sat idly by chatting about nothing in particular and drinking tea. Vulpamon walked slowly into the foyer closely holding a red, soaked, and trembling Eric against her. It was a 180 degree shift from her previous attitude. Now that training was over for the day, she held and whispered to him wanting nothing more than his comfort. Eric could only hobble now and needed Vulpamon to aid him in walking.

The few in the room all stopped what they were doing to look from their pillows and coffee tables at the two in the doorway.

The door creaked shut behind them.

"What happened to him?" Shouted out a tadpole like Otamamon.

"It's nothing." Eric huffed out. "It's just a routine."

"Do you need anything?" Asked one of the human monks.

Vulpamon looked up at him. "I need a scalding hot bath, an ice cold bath, and some amino complex cream."

* * *

A large standup bathtub in Eric's dorm was filled with steaming hot water. All of Eric's clothes were neatly folded on the toilet seat off to the side, along with his D-Arc, Compy, and goggles.

Vulpamon sat on the ledge of the bathtub smiling sweetly down at Eric who had his eyes shut tight at breathed deeply. Her tail swished back and forth slowly as she reached down to a jar on the floor and scooped up bright blue cream, rubbing it gently into Eric's hand with one paw, while holding said hand with the other. The ream quickly disappeared into his flesh.

"You know," Eric sighed. "sometimes I think the only reason you make our sessions so harsh is because you love babying me so much."

"I suppose it's possible." Vulpamon responded.

She scooped up a palm full of water and dumped it onto his hair, brushing it off afterwards so as not to get it in his face.

"But remember, after only the first year of training, you were winning tournaments."

"Amateur tournaments." Eric added in.

"Maybe so, but it's far more than you were ever capable of before… Eric?"

Vulpamon looked down at Eric to find that he had fallen asleep in the hot water. She smiled and leaned over to kiss him. Her tongue just barely touched the inside of his lips. Even in his sleep, Eric pushed his head against her, even if only slightly.

Vulpamon released her kiss and continued rubbing the amino complex cream into his hands.

While such sweetness took place in the dorms, something very morbid went on the basement.

* * *

Terrance Tripp sat on the cold contcrete floor, Everything was dark, dank, wet, and cold. Only from the few candles tucked away in the corner and an emergency flashlight dug up from Terrance's beat up canvas bag could one see, and it was not a pleasant sight.

Terrance's face was one of shock, disgust, but most of all fright from the thing that stood in front of him. The Gazimon was bound in shackles and chained against the wall. But it didn't seem like the same kind Gazimon from before. Its fur had tinted red, and its small pointed teeth grew into large, pitch black fangs. The Gazimon's eyes were blood red and blood shot. It leered at its two guests with a look that neither of them knew whether to equate with rage, or lust.

"He, he, he…" Gazimon giggled. "I want to cut out your intestines with my claws and eat your lungs… But no that would be wrong… But it just sounds like so much fun!"

Jitters were sent though the spines of both Terrance and Chiroptermon as they looked at the Gazimon's gleeful smile as it said those words. Terrance looked in front of him. His camcorder propped up on its tripod was still recording. The flashlight rested ontop of it shining its light right onto Gazimon. Terrance looked to his side. Chiroptermon busily typed away at a laptop plugged into his master's orange D-Arc, set to continuous scan.

Terrance turned back and spoke to the wretched Gazimon.

"How long've ya known this?"

"It was a little over eight months ago when I was attacked by a psycho Neemon. He, he… Crazy thing to… Neemon were always the most harmless and weak of all Digimon, but this one had blood soaked fangs and it was a sickly green. And it was strong. Neemon were supposed to be puny, scrawny, weak little rookies, but this one was strong like a champion. I barely got away with my life."

"So it is an infection." Chiroptermon gasped. "That also supports the rumor that it only affects ancestral Digimon. Both Neemon and Gazimon are ancestral."

"Ya knew about this fer eight months?" Terrance continued.

The Gazimon jerked its head to the side and growled like a badger, throwing spit several feet through the air.

"It was the monks." Gazimon spoke. "They taught me how to meditate, and I could sense it eating away at me from the inside like a bunch of maggots. He, he, he, maggots. Even then I knew it was filling me with the desire to kill.  
"It wasn't natural!"

The Gazimon burst into tears as he screamed.

"It's not natural!"

And just as quickly, he started to giggle again.

Terrance scooted away. Every nerve in his body told him to flee. No! He had to get this story! It was for the good of every one and every thing, human and Digimon alike.

Gazimon burst into tears again.

"I don't want to kill!" He shrieked, shaking his head back and fourth. "I don't want to hurt anyone! Why do I have to do this?"

Gazimon dug his claws into his hands so hard they trickled out blood. The blood dripped to he floor where it evaporated into tiny specs of light, not bright blue and green light like one would expect, but dark purple light. Black light.

"I want to hear the screams of children as they suffer their bodies burned and mutilated. Oh my god!"

"Calm down by crikey!" Terrance shouted.

Gazimon relaxed and started sobbing.

"How'd'ya feel when you first found out." Terrance asked. "And how'd'ya come to terms with it."

"I was horrified. I was broken. Everyone said I was the gentlest, sweetest, most loving person they'd ever met. Now I was going to be a killer. Why did it have to happen to me?  
"I only took comfort in the fact that I was chosen to bare this curse so that some other Digimon could be saved from it."

"These readings are crazy!" Chiroptermon shouted. "According to this, he's not even a Gazimon anymore. he's not a rookie, but he's not a champion either. He's both at the same time. And his hex code is being rewritten on the fundamental level. Gazimon isn't being corrupted, he's being changed into something else entirely."

"Digivolvin'" Terrance asked.

"No, he's not Digivolving, preconceived code is forcefully integrating itself into his hex makeup. This new code is frightening too. I'm not entirely sure, but this code seems to share an aweful lot in common with what you'll find in the D-Reaper files."

"Gave up the ghost forty four yeas ago." Terrance whispered. "Could the bloody thing've still left its mark on the world even today?"

Terrance shook his head and questioned the Gazimon again. "Last question… Do ya believe that this thing was invented by a human?"

Gazimon shook and stuttered as he answered. "Y,y,y, you know. As much as I d,d, don't want to believe it. It's p,p,p,p,p, probably true."

"Thanks a bunch." Terrance whispered, and reached over to turn off his camcorder.

* * *

Two days had passed since they all first woke up in this strange monastery. Already it seemed like a second home to each and every one of them. The Gazimon who had showed them so much hospitality had come to be seen by them as a member of the family. Now that Gazimon was a vicious, mindless instrument of pain and death, and no one knew why.

They all knew what they had to do, but none of them wanted to do it.

Eric, Vulpamon, Parsley, Peamon, Terrance, and Chiroptermon all stood in a plain concrete hallway with its flickering track lights and too much condensation, cold and sniffling. The monks, both human and Digimon had lined the sides of the hallway, and bowed to all of them as they passed.

"You're telling me he chained himself to the wall?" Eric asked.

"You would understand if you'd seen him." Chiroptermon answered.

They reached the steel door to the empty storage room.

"Are you sure this is alright?" Peamon asked a monk standing beside her.

The monk laid his hand on Peamon's head and nodded.

"Gazimon told us all that, when the madness takes him, he will no longer be alive. He said that killing him then would be no different from breaking an old vase. We all pray for your success."

Terrance reached out and turned the handle of the steel door. It creaked open. Strange gurgling noises came from the darkness within. Slowly, and hesitantly, they all entered the room. Two bright red eyes opened and leered at them.

Terrance pulled his flashlight and shined it at the eyes.

The Gazimon stared at them like a vicious animal thing. It giggled and growled and saliva dripped from its mouth, evaporating into the black light specs as it hit the ground.

"Ugghhhh!" Parsley groaned, and wrapped her arms around Terrance's waist. "That's Gazimon?"

"Accordng to my D-Arc," Eric spoke. "That's not Gazimon anymore."

"Then what is it?" Parsley asked.

"BloodGazimon."


	7. Episode four, part one

**Story Notes:** For those of you who read my livejournal, I said you'd see some familiar faces in this episode. Well... I was wrong. This episode just turned out to be too damn long for me to get to that part. You'll be seeing some familiar faces in the next episode though.

**Author Notes: **If you're at all feint hearted, this episode is not for you. The violence will become quite vivid in this one, and most of it will be rather disturbing.

* * *

The eyes of BloodGazimon were dried and reddened with veins. Dark rings surrounded them and the skin beneath the lids showed bulged and discolored into a dark purple. Tears streamed from these eyes trying in vain to moisten them. BloodGazimon took no notice of them. The Digimon gurgled from down its throat as if it were choking on water. Only a moment ago it shrieked and struggled wildly to escape from its chains. Now it was absolutely calm. BloodGazimon's only movement was a slight wriggling of its fingers, which were now twice as long and had claws not of nail, but of bone jutting out from the flesh itself. The smell of burning tar wafted out from its fur, filling the room and making everyone within it tear up and choke. Even in this darkness, one could almost see the dark blue oil that had seeped out of the creature's skin and slicked down its fur. That was where the smell came from. That's where the eyes came from. BloodGazimon's skin burn from the touch of the oil that pumped out of its own pores. It was like mace to its eyes, and to the eyes of its onlookers. But it paid no attention to the pain. Odds are it didn't even notice the pain.

Parsley shivered at the sight of such a creature. Why would such a smell come from any Digimon? They all had their smells, some not quite as pleasant as others. Even the Formimon she was so fond of, the giant ant, smelled of simple glass cleaner and citric acid. Not the most pleasant of odors but something you could easily get used to. But no Digimon smelled downright sickening, no Digimon except for this BloodGazimon.

It noticed Parsley's shivering. It seemed drawn to movement. It's eyes shifted and stared straight into hers. She bounded behind Terrance, wrapped her arms around his legs and buried her head in his back. Chiroptermon turned his head to look down at her, and laid the end of his tail on her head trying to comfort her even though he knew it wouldn't work. She didn't notice anyway. Nor did Terrance notice Parsley using him as a shield of sorts.

BloodGazimon jumped forward and screeched like the squealing tire of a semi in response to Parsley's sudden movement. The chains caught it and pulled it back. Everyone in the room jumped a little at the suddenness of it all, even Vulpamon.

"I don't think I've ever seen anything so ugly." Chiroptermon whispered.

"I know what'cha mean little mate." Terrance whispered back.

Peamon stood at the end of the room with her eyes closed only whispering to herself. "Please don't move. Please don't make a sound. Please don't move. Please don't make a sound."

Eric swallowed his spit. That is, he would've swallowed his spit if he had any. This was his chance and if he didn't take it he might not get another one. He took one step closer. BloodGazimon's eyes immediately shifted to his own, stopping him in mid step. It made another choking gurgle from deep within its throat. Eric took one step closer. BloodGazimon's finger's twiddled some more in anticipation. One more step. The smell became worse. It burned Eric's eyes. He closed them and rubbed his fingers against them as tears flowed like hoses. This close to BloodGazimon, the more Eric breathed, the less he could breath. It was as if liquid were pouring into his lungs.

"I warn you against doing that." Vulpamon spoke up, attracting another stare and gurgle from BloodGazimon.

Eric didn't listen. He reached up and pulled his old goggles over his eyes. That and a thorough coating of tears should keep the rest of the fumes at bay. Although seeing through so much saltwater his world was now a blur of light and shadow.

"Can you understand me?" Eric barely managed to choke out through the fumes.

The noise triggered it. BloodGazimon lunged forward again, claws outstretched. The chains held it back once more, but it was close enough now to reach its target. Eric saw nothing through the blur, but felt knifelike edges raking across his cheek, and warm fluid dripping down his neck.

Everyone screamed. BloodGazimon riled and shrieked and clawed and spat at the noises. Something grabbed Eric's jacket collar and pulled him back. Before he knew what was happening, he was being forced against the wall with a huge paw pressing firmly against his bleeding cheek. He struggled, but the force only restrained him.

"Hold still!"

The voice brought common sense back to him as he recognized that it belonged to Vulpamon. In a panic she pulled him away from BloodGazimon and was putting the pressure of her own paw against his cuts. He stopped struggling. His eyes began to feel better so far away from the fumes of BloodGazimon, who was still writhing and growling, trying to escape its bindings.

Eric pressed his head into Vulpamon's paw. She turned her head around to look at BloodGazimon. The creature could just manage to place the tips of its claws in its mouth and suck off the skin scraped from Eric's face. It purred contently. Vulpamon felt queasy from the site.

Parsley started crying and pressed her face harder into Terrance's back. Terrance still could only stare, shaking his head slowly while Chiroptermon did the same from over his shoulder.

A few minutes of silence passed. No one moved or made a sound apart from what they already were doing.

Footsteps were heard from outside. Footsteps came from just outside the door and provoked BloodGazimon into a fit of snarling. Chiroptermon cringed at the sound and Vulpamon's fur stood on end. It sounded like a drowning baby sheep.

"What was that?" Peamon at last asked out loud.

"The monks and nuns, they all took off." Chiroptermon answered. "They don't want to be in the middle of what's going to happen."

"And what's going to happen?" Parsley asked still crying.

"A fight." Terrance answered. "A nasty one too."

"Do you think we could capture it alive?" Eric spoke out.

Terrance and Chiroptermon turned around to see Eric. Though Vulpamon still held him, he now had his own hand on his cheek.

"I dunno'." Terrance answered.

"We won't be able to." Peamon interrupted.

"Why not?" Chiroptermon asked.

"Do you remember what Gazimon told us? A disfigured Neemon attacked him. Neemon are supposed to be incapable of fighting, and yet Gazimon said it was stronger than him. Gazimon are supposed to be some of the greatest fighters among the rookie class. If this… condition could make a Neemon hopelessly outclass a Gazimon, imagine how powerful Gazimon would have become."

"What about Chiroptermon?" Terrance pleaded, putting his hand on Chiroptermon's muzzle. "What'll happen to him if he gets hit?"

"I don't know." Peamon answered. "The rumors are that only ancestral Digimon can become afflicted. Are you a new or ancestral Digimon Chiroptermon?"

"Uhh, new." Chiroptermon responded, turning his head to the side. "I was born live from two parents just like a human. What about you?"

"I also am a new Digimon."

"What about you sheilamon?" Terrance spoke aloud, turning his head toward Vulapamon.

Vulpamon only held Eric tighter and narrowed her eyes.

"Alright, you and the bloke. No need to ask."

"All Digimon here are new." Peamon said. "Theoretically that would protect us from turning into… that thing."

Parsley finally let go of Terrance and peaked out from behind him. BloodGazimon stared her in the eyes and bared its fangs. It started giggling. A wave of cold was sent up and down Parsley's body causing her to jitter. This only made BloodGazimon giggle even more.

"Why does it do that?" Parsley asked no one in particular.

"I dunno'." Terrance answered.

"I think it's like a psychopath." Eric interrupted. "Gaining pleasure from what would normally cause guilt."

"A bloodthirsty psychopath." Vulpamon added in.

"I wonder what it must be like." Eric whispered. "To be like that."

BloodGazimon purred and twiddled its fingers as it eyed every last inch of Parsley's body in a way that could be sworn as sexual if you didn't know better. Parsley started crying again.

"From my previous readings," Chiroptermon replied. "I believe I can extrapolate something."

"Please do." Eric pushed.

"Consciousness is reduced to its most primitive level. BloodGazimon is no more sentient than a lizard. Without higher thought there can be no conscience. All that's left is animalistic desires, which have been twisted from their normal selves. The only thing BloodGazimon wants is to kill and cause pain. It would be like a drug to the Digimon. A neverending quest for the next high."

Parsley began crying a bit harder.

"But you said that code was like-" Terrance almost asked.

"the D-Reaper." Chiroptermon finished. "I did say that."

"But D-Reaper only wanted to destroy." Eric whispered. "It didn't want to cause pain it didn't even understand the concept."

"But what it could do was control other humans and Digimon" Peamon added in. "by integrating its own code into theirs and thus turning them into remote controlled machines."

"Than why doesn't it affect humans?" Eric asked.

"Simple." Chiroptermon answered. "D-Reaper could control Digimon by remote, but humans are purely physical beings, so they needed a physical connection to the D-Reaper in order to be controlled. Does anyone remember Juri Kato from history class? She had to be sucked inside the thing before it could have any influence on her."

"But doesn't answer the question that is on all our minds." Peamon spoke out. "There is code taken directly from D-Reaper inside BloodGazimon. What is it doing there?"

"I think that's how it's able to alter the Digimon." Eric responded. He pushed his way out from Vulpamon's arms and took a couple steps toward BloodGazimon, their eyes following each other's the whole way. "D-Reaper was able to infect other Digimon to control them. The same code it used to do that must have been used to create the infection. But without a master controlling it, the best the infection could do is rewrite the Digimon's own code with a few simple instructions… kill and torture all humans."

"Why would anyone do that?" Parsley cried out.

"There are people in this world Mistress Parsley, who hate Digimon." Peamon answered. "Even unlike your parents, these people believe all Digimon and all things that come from the Digital World are evil incarnate, and must be destroyed at any cost. Even if it means killing many human beings in the process."

"Religious zealots." Vulpamon whispered. "That's the official stance of many a church."

"We're going to have to kill BloodGazimon." Eric spoke aloud.

_Kill BloodGazimon_. Those words may have been recognized instinctively. They elicited an instant response. BloodGazimon's pupils narrowed into slits. It clenched its teeth and clenched its fists. It screamed loud enough to rattle the ears of all in the room, and began to struggle again. It pulled at its chains and snarled and foamed while dark purple blood began to drip from its eyes.

Everyone panicked and pressed themselves against the back wall of the room. BloodGazimon's voice sounded like that of a lamb being tortured. The smell became even more intense. It struggled more. Cracks appeared in the ceramic walls. The cracks gave way and the walls shattered, leaving a giggling and foaming BloodGazimon free and staring down its audience with the face of a man overdosed on crack.

Everyone was too stunned to move or talk. BloodGazimon stared, but didn't make a sound.

At last Peamon got up the nerve to speak. "Mistress Parsley… open the door… very slowly… don't make a sound… and sneak out."

For once Parsley didn't argue. She nodded her head. The doorknob turned. The door began to open, but it creaked loudly. Something inside BloodGazimon snapped at the sound.

BloodGazimon lunged forward with claws reaching out toward its prey. Vulpamon and Chiroptermon both leapt out from behind their masters and lunged back. The three crashed into each other and a flurry of claws, fur, and hideous screams flew through the air.

Terrance and Eric were both knocked down by the shock of it all. The both immediately turned around and tired desperately to craw back out of the door, away from the hideous sounds in behind them.

Peamon 's feathers ruffled and stood on end. She grabbed Parsley by the collar of her coat and dress and dragged her kicking and screaming out of the room, following Eric and Terrence wherever they went.

Outside in the hall, Eric and Terrance could finally stand up and started running. Eric paused only for a moment to grab Parsley from Peamon and carry her still kicking and screaming over his shoulder through the hall. Peamon followed close behind.

They reached the intersection at the end of the hall. A split second pause to decide which way to go was enough. A blurred blue image flew across the room. Vulpamon crashed back first into the wall. She fell down on top of Eric and Terrance, pinning them and Parsley all to the floor. Soon after that, Chiroptermon flew the same course, slamming his head into the wall and falling onto Vulpamon.

Peamon was panic-stricken. She looked the other way.

BloodGazimon stood at the end of the hall with the widest of smiles and eyes that seemed to bulge out of its head. Its teeth and claws dripped with dark purple blood that evaporated into its countless black light specs as soon as it settled on the ground.

BloodGazimon slowly and casually walked forward, chuckling under its breath the entire time. It whipped its arms out to its sides, piercing the ceramic walls and tearing out lines of chunks and dust as it walked forward.

Peamon took a step back. Hear heart felt like it was going to burst. All the muscles in her body tensed hard enough to hurt. The familiar smell of burning tar flowed down the hall from BloodGazimon. The rest of them were still trying to untangle themselves from each other. It would up to her to hold it off long enough for them to escape.

She lifted her wings to the sides. No use, the hallway was too narrow. Her wings hit the walls. She lifted them straight up into the air, and flung them down.

DOWN SABER

Feathers flew in perfect straightness from the tips of her wings. The feathers that hit the walls stuck inside like knives jammed into flesh. But those that hit BloodGazimon had little effect. They made only the equivalent of papercuts and needle pricks. BloodGazimon still walked forward with feathers jutting from its flesh, still tearing the walls open with its claws.

Peamon looked back. They were untangled and more or less standing. But Chiroptermon was unconscious in Terrance's arms, and Vulpamon was delirious and had to be helped to stand by Eric.

"Run!" Peamon screamed.

They didn't hesitate. They darted down the left hall, or hobbled, whatever you want to call it.

Peamon unbound the plumage on her tail. The walls blocked it. She stepped back to the intersection for enough room to unbind it all the way. The feathers reached eight feet in the air. They were bright emerald with silver tips. The tips shined bright enough to blind the unwary.

MIRROR PLUMAGE

It worked. BloodGazimon screamed in pain and covered his eyes, slashing violently at the air, sometimes taking a chunk of the wall with it. Peamon saw her chance, and she took it. She refolded her tail plumage and charged straight at BloodGazimon.

Peamon leapt into the air. Syringe like streams of clear green fluid flew from the tips of her claws splattering on the walls next to her.

POISON NAIL

Peamon brought down her claws right into BloodGazimon's face.

BloodGazimon screamed as purple blood flew from its mouth. Peamon clamped down on BloodGazimon's throat with her beak. The taste was even worse than the smell. But even that was nothing compared to the feeling of the grease soaking BloodGazimon's fur burning away at her tongue like acid. She held her beak firmly on BloodGazimon's Throat as it grabbed her by the wings and thrust her into the walls, cracking them.

BloodGazimon reached an arm into the air, and brought it straight down. The claws skewered her right wing. They were as hot as glowing iron. Smoke poured out of Peamon's wing as the scent of burning feathers and flesh filled the air to mix with BloodGazimon's own smell.

The pain was excruciating. It was too much for her. Peamon let go and screamed in agony as tears dropped from her face to the ground. BloodGazimon saw the opportunity and didn't hesitate to take it.

BloodGazimon wrapped its claws around Peamon's throat and bit down on her beak.

FIRE KISS

White hot flames spewed from BloodGazimon's mouth down the nostrils and down the throat of Peamon. The pain was even worse than from the claws, but all of Peamon's insides went numb after a split second.

BloodGazimon let go and backed up, breathing heavily after his last exhausting attack. None of this crossed the mind of Peamon in too much pain. Only the survival instinct was working now, and it told her to run.

She ran.

She ran down the hall the same direction the others went. She ran until she hit her head against the other wall. She looked up. She was in another storage room identical to the last. Everyone was there. Vulpamon sat on the floor rubbing her head while Eric pushed against her shoulders keeping her sitting. Chiroptermon was awake in Terrance's arms but squinting badly despite the dark. Parsley was curled into a ball in the corner, crying into her arms.

"By crikey what happened to ya?" Terrance yelled.

Peamon couldn't say wheeze out coherent over her shallow breathing, and wouldn't have been able to wheeze out anything coherent even without it.

"Burning!… Acid!… Claws!… Fire!… Gazimon!… pain!…"

"Forget it she's too far gone!" Eric yelled back.

Peamon stumbled around before collapsing to the floor.

"The halls are too narrow." Vulpamon whispered to Eric. "We can only take on BloodGazimon one at a time. If we could attack all together maybe we could stand a chance but at this rate…"

"What in bloody hell's 'e doin'?" Terrance shouted, pointing down the hall.

BloodGazimon walked in the other direction slowly. It sniffed the air intently as it did.

"That way goes to the monastery." Eric replied.

"We can't let him reach the monastery." Vulpamon added. "We have to distract him."

"Do you think you can do any of your special moves?"

Vulpamon nodded her head.

Eric lifted Vulpamon to her feet. Clinging to Eric's arm and shoulder, Vulpamon walked up to the entrance of the storage room. Vulpamon saw double. Aiming for the spot between the two BloodGazimons should be too hard. At the doorway, Vulpamon let go of Eric and lifted her hands into the air. She spun around on one foot like a top and finally kicked her other foot down to stop herself as she flung her arms forward.

GALE CUT.

A white disk of pure wind flew from Vulpamon's fingertips. It flew through the air and rotated many times before landing squarely vertical between BloodGazimon's shoulder blades. BloodGazimon was knocked off his feet. It worked. Blood Gazimon got back up and turned around to look at whoever had the audacity to fire a blade of wind at itself. BloodGazimon bared its teeth and snarled, digging its claws inches deep into the concrete floor.

"I don't suppose any of you have a way out of here." Vulpamon asked.

It took a second of looking for Terrance to find it. "The window!"

Vulpamon turned around. The window was just large enough for each of them to fit through if they went one at a time. It was covered in iron bars bolted to the ceramic walls. BloodGazimon was now walking toward them. Vulpamon made her way with a little effort to the window and pulled on the bars. They didn't budge. She jumped up and pressed both her feet against the wall, pulling so hard she felt like her wrists were going to come off. BloodGazimon was almost at the doorway. Terrance jumped up and down trying to relieve some of his panic. That was when he notice Chiroptermon rustling against his motions.

Chiroptermon held a claw against his temple and shook his head. He looked in front of him and saw a claw in the air ready to be brought down onto him and his tamer. He reacted instantly.

SONIC MINE.

The deafening roar of a sonic boom echoed through the halls as BloodGazimon was thrown back against the floor. But the Digimon just stood up again, body and jaw clenched in anger, and slashed at the walls, tearing them as if they were Styrofoam.

Vulpamon continued to pull at the Iron bars. Gazimon charged. Eric slammed the door to the storage room shut. BloodGazimon rammed head first into the door, bending it almost thirty degrees and breaking off the bottom hinge. Eric jumped back and yelped. BloodGazimon was on his back once again, but once again it got back up. A bit Dizzy, BloodGazimon stumbled about, slowly coming back to its senses. Vulpamon continued to pull on the iron grate. The ceramic began to crack. BloodGazimon looked straight through the grating of the bent door and walked forward, almost falling over several times. The ceramic cracked some more, and finally the entire grate gave way leaving Vulpamon to land on the concrete floor.

"Parsley! You go first!" Eric shouted.

Parsley lifted her head up and looked around. Eric grabbed her by the arm but she struggled, scratching him with her nails until he was forced to let go.

"Dammit!" He shouted again.

Eric ran over and jumped up into the hole in the wall, quickly climbing out onto the dirt outside.

Eric turned back toward the hole and yelled to the others.

"We've have to get out of here before that thing comes to!"

Vulpamon rolled back and swung herself to her feet. She lifted herself to the hole and crawled through.

Terrance was soon to follow, holding Chiroptermon in one arm.

BloodGazimon at last came to his senses. The creature took one more step forward and wrapped its claws around the grate of the door. With a pull, the top hinge was broke. BloodGazimon threw the door over his shoulders and walked inside. It sniffed the air and its irises narrowed. It looked down at Parsley huddled into the corner, staring back at it. Her eyes were in too much shock to be in any kind of fear. Parsley couldn't move or breath as this hideous thing with its even more hideous smell stepped closer to her.

Peamon suddenly jumped out in front. Her wings were outstretched. She shivered, she could barely stand, but she stood in BloodGazimon's way nonetheless.

"If you want my tamer you'll have to go through me."

A single backhand from BloodGazimon and Peamon was thrown against the wall unconscious.

BloodGazimon turned its attentions back to Parsley, still too much in shock to say or do anything, until…

"Parsley! Get up here!"

Eric's voice snapped he back to reality. Parsley shook her head and made a jump toward the window just as BloodGazimon brought its claw down onto the floor, shattering it.

Parsley jumped up toward the hole in the wall. Her arms were caught by Eric's hand's who pulled her up, but she was stuck. BloodGazimon had hold of her shoe. The sole caught fire at BloodGazimon's touch. Eric was being pulled back into the storage room until Vulpamon wrapped her arms around his waste and pulled herself. Even then BloodGazimon was stronger and all three were being pulled inside.

Parsley wriggled her ankle until her shoe came off and she was pulled the rest of the way out of the window.

As soon as they were all to their feet they backed away in a kind of half circle around the broken window, waiting for what they knew would happen.

Two huge bone claws lifted themselves up and grasped the edges of the windowsill, sizzling and smoking the ceramic dust gathered across it.

"We're outside now." Eric said. "That means we can fight him."


	8. Episode four, part two

They all stood there. Despite Eric's reassurances, none of them really knew if they could win this fight. Their Digimon's attacks seemed to have little effect on BloodGazimon. One of the three was already out of the picture. And true to its word, the afflicted Digimon was only a rookie, yet had the power of some of the stronger champions. All they could do now was wait and see. There was a silent communication between all of them. No one showed it, but everyone was stared at those bony claws pulling up the thing attached to them was convinced they were about to die. But if they were going to die, they'd better damn well take this creature with them.

The claws dug their way into the dirt. Steam shot out of the ground as they touched it. The claws pushed down, pulling up the body attached to them. Only now, as this thing was crawling into the light of the outside was anyone able to see how truly grotesque it really was. Its eyes were stained brown and covered with dark blue veins. It's fur no longer showed. It had long since burned away. It's skin, scarred as if immersed in caustic chemicals, dripped with black fluid. The tar, the smell, is where it all came from. Even the bones had grown outward, exposed outside the skin. The ribs wrapped around the chest like some kind of twisted armor. It seemed the embodiment of whatever thing was in the nightmares that led to the latest monster movie.

It finally crawled out of the hole and stood up once again. Tiny flames wrapped the ground just around its feet. It wriggled its claws while panning around each and every face before it. By reflex it released a chuckle through its nose, spurting out more black fluid that lit on fire as soon as it touched the grass.

Parsley could no longer take it. She dropped to her hands and knees and vomited on the ground. The reaction made BloodGazimon laugh out loud. Chiroptermon dug his wings and claw tips into Terrance's skin, hardly able to look at the sight before him. Terrance could only close his eyes and turn his head away. Eric and Vulpamon stood in total shock, unable to do anything but stare.

BloodGazimon wriggled its finger's clacking the bones of its claws together, which send a sharp surge of dizziness straight to the heads of Eric and Vulpamon alike. Parsley looked back up at the thing and began to crawl backwards. The movement triggered it.

BloodGazimon reached its arms forward and pounced toward Parsley.

SONIC MINE

The thunderous explosion rocked all to their knees as the blast of sound slammed BloodGazimon right in the chest. BloodGazimon fell to the ground on all fours, immediately righting itself and looking no worse for wear.

Chiroptermon propelled himself from Eric's back and glided down to meet BloodGazimon face to face. BloodGazimon snarled and gurgled at him. Chiroptermon was barely able to keep himself with the stench and the burning.

"What are you doin'? You're gonna' get slaughta'd!" Terrance tried pleading, but he was only stating what everyone was convinced was inevitable at this point. It was no use.

BloodGazimon reared back a claw and thrust forward. But it was too late.

TRANSLUCENSE

Chiroptermon evaporated into smoke. Though invisible, he still wasn't fast enough to evade BloodGazimon's claw. He flew straight back, but the bone still clipped his chest. Drops of red blood fell to the grass, exploding into their rainbow of code just after settling, followed soon by a scream.

The black fluid in the wound felt like hot chili oil burying itself beneath the flesh. Chiroptermon couldn't give up now though. He could only maintain his state for a few more seconds. That would be time enough to get in one more shot from straight above. Chiroptermon flew straight up into the air until he was beyond the tops of the trees and the sun blinded him. He dropped and flew straight down, aiming for the dark spot and breathing in to unleash his sonic weapon. It was a dismal failure. Either through smell or through sound, BloodGazimon knew where he was coming from.

BLOOD CREEPER

BloodGazimon looked straight up and sneezed. Dark purple blood shot out of its nose, not in a spray, but in a rope. Chiroptermon saw the blood rope coming back up at him, but couldn't move out of the way fast enough, nor did he have time to blow it back down with his intended attack. The rope hit him dead on and wrapped around his body. Chiroptermon spiraled downward, unable to control his direction he crashed into the ground. The impact, knocking him senseless raised a cloud of smoke revealing him again visible on the ground, struggling against the blood rope constricting him, burning his skin.

"No!" Terrance screamed.

Terrance ran forward toward Chiroptermon, pulling a pocketknife out of his back pocket.

"Are you crazy?" Eric screamed back at him.

Terrance couldn't reach Chiroptermon or even open his pocketknife before the side a bony claw backhanded him in the face. He spun around twice and fell to the ground unconscious.

BloodGazimon pursued his interest further. A quick glance noted Parsley pressed against a tree looking right at him. BloodGazimon smiled and rattled his fingers as he started his slow walk again toward Parsley. Parsley, the one who showed the most fear was the one who most elicited his desire.

Eric and Vulpamon glanced at each other for only a split second.

"Go!" Eric yelled, and Vulpamon took off running toward Parsley.

MOTION BLUR.

In an instant Vulpamon picked up speed that made her look like nothing more than a smear of color to onlookers. In that same instant she dug her feet into the ground to stop herself, skidding almost ten feet. She skidded in front of, then past BloodGazimon, leaving behind dozens of still images of herself in front of it.

BloodGazimon shrieked and slashed at the images, each one vanishing on the touch of its claw. BloodGazimon shuttered and gnarred, clenching its body in rage. It worked. BloodGazimon turned its head to find Vulpamon's flattened paw feet away from its face.

All the while, Eric ran toward Chiroptermon. He reached down and swiped up the pocketknife dropped on the ground. Chiroptermon groaned and cried in pain, long since given up on struggling. Eric bent down and reached under the bloody rope with the now open knife, and pulled. The knife smoked immediately. Eric still pulled. He grit his teeth as his face turned red and his hands turned white. The bloody rope snapped and unraveled on the ground, liquefying and igniting the dirt. Drops splashed onto Eric's face, blackening the skin with burns before evaporating into its code. Eric dropped the knife and put his hands to his burns. The blade had almost been totally melted through. Chiroptermon didn't waste any time in flopping onto his stomach and crawling away from the caustic goop.

Vulpamon's flattened hand shot forward right toward the face of BloodGazimon. It was stronger than her. But she would soon know the hard way that it was also faster than her. The back end of a bony claw shot up in between Vulpamon's hand and BloodGazimon's face. The two struck with the sound of steel grinding steel. Vulpamon froze up in shock only for a moment, but it was enough. A second claw cam hurtling toward her from the side and struck her in the face. She was thrown through the air and landed rolling over many times before stopping. The side of her face had three open gashes polluted with the black fluid. She shivered in pain and dug her claws into the ground.

The sound was enough to attract attention.

"Vulpamon!"

Even with his burns Eric's body turned white and his insides chilled at the site of Vulpamon laying o the ground helpless and injured while that killer whatever still had it in for her. All conscious thought left his mind and he ran over to Vulpamon and threw himself on top of her in a useless effort to shield her. He didn't even realize that she was no longer the target of BloodGazimon's attention.

Parsley still pressed herself against the tree. BloodGazimon stepped toward her with his usual sluggishness, unable to stop giggling.

Parsley was in shock. She could no longer feel fear, or anything else. Her heart and her breath slowed back down. She only stared with wide eyes and no expression. In shock, she was in a state of waking unconsciousness.

BloodGazimon took the last step and hovered above her. She made no reaction except to look back up at that face. BloodGazimon waited totally still for her to make some kind of movement, some kind of sound, but she didn't. She couldn't.

The scene looked like a photograph. Chiroptermon sprawled out unconscious a few meters away from an unconscious Terrance. Eric had himself wrapped around Vulpamon whose body tightened in pain. BloodGazimon hovered totally still over Parsley who stared back in shock.

Almost a minute passed by, until the last creature able to act did so.

POISON NAIL

Two massive sets of talons landed on BloodGazimon's back, digging in as hard as they could, pumping greenish liquid into the Digimon's muscles. BloodGazimon reared back and roared.

Peamon fell off onto the ground onto her side. BloodGazimon immediately turned around and raised a claw high into the air. Peamon looked back at her killer to be. But not even in this moment had she the strength to do so. Her last desperate move drained everything she had. Peamon collapsed to the ground.

By all accounts, to something with such a primitive mind she appeared dead. BloodGazimon lowered its claw and looked straight forward. It saw Eric with his body shivering. Something still alive. Something still moving.

BloodGazimon charged and dove at Eric, tackling him off of Vulpamon and pinning his to the ground. The weight of BloodGazimon on top of him was crushing. The dark oils dripped onto his jacket and shirt smoking. It would only be a matter of time before they ate through his clothing and started to burn him. He started to cry.

Noise. Precious noise. This meant that BloodGazimon could attack. It raised a single bony claw into the air.

Vulpamon watched it all. Eric being pinned down by this abhorition, about to be impaled through the chest, her irises narrowed. Her body flushed with heat hotter than fire, but it didn't burn. At that moment some ego barrier inside her shattered. It was only for a moment, but that moment meant all the difference.

BloodGazimon turned its head toward a sharp metallic whistle, shortly after to be blinded by a light as brighter than the sun.

Eric was the last one to fall unconscious just then

* * *

There was something wet and heavy. Something pressed on the forehead. It was comfortable. It was cool. Breathing deepened. Eyes opened.

All that could be seen was a reddish shape over a yellow background. Everything was a smudge like a picture badly out of focus. The wet pressed against the forehead again. This time it dripped down the sides until something on the cheek blocked it. It was padding of some sort. Vision became clearer. Breathing deepened.

An old bald man in a yellow robe pressed a cloth soaked in cool water against Eric's forehead. The roof was a plain yellow. He was on a couch of some kind. Eric lifted his hand to feel his cheek. There used to be burns there, now there were moist pads. The pain was gone. He tried to sit up.

"You need a bit more rest." The old man spoke in his raspy yet soft voice.

"Wha… where…"

"With how we found you we were amazed any of you survived the battle." The old man interrupted. "We brought you all back to the monastery. It is very fortunate that Digimon heal so quickly and without scars, otherwise none of them would be able to enter a fashionable establishment ever again."

Monastery? What was this guy talking about? Why would the way Digimon heal be relevant?

"What happened?" Eric sighed.

"Your partner saw you on the brink of death, and something happened to her. I believe she digivovled."

That made even less sense. Why would Vulpamon need to do that? And what could possibly put him on the brink of death?

"What are you talking about?"

"You do not remember?" the old man said. "Gazimon lost his life when he changed. He charged you with disposing of his remains afterwards. Though the struggle nearly ended in the death of you and your friends."

Gazimon… BloodGazimon… the memories came flooding back. Gazimon. Gazimon suffered from the mysterious Digimon madness. The meditation within the monastery allowed it to know this long before it took full force. Gazimon, the symbol of kindness in this little building was on its way to becoming a mindless killing machine. It did. They fought. The battle seemed hopeless. They were all going to die. Then there was the bright light, and that's where the memories ended. The light. Vulpamon. The old monk said Vulpamon digivolved after seeing him almost dead. BloodGazimon was indeed about to impale him through the chest. The light. It must have been Vulpamon digivolving.

In such a disoriented state Eric still couldn't make much sense of it. He didn't try, as he knew sense would come to it as his mind slowly awakened more and more.

"Even in her champion form she scarcely managed to win." The old man continued. "She said she was surprised she even lived."

"I've never seen her digivolve."

"She told us she never had before that moment."

Vulpamon's first time as a champion and he missed it. He was too exhausted at the moment to feel anything.

Clear sight faded back into blurred smudges. Mostly clear consciousness fell back into confusion. Sharp sound dulled into intangible murmur. Light faded. Consciousness was lost.

* * *

A weight pressed against the mouth. This time awakening was faster, and not momentary.

Eric opened his eyes to see a smear of blue. A few blinks later revealed it to be a face covered in blue fur. White lines present beneath closed eyes gave it away as the face of his partner in more than one sense of the word, Vulpamon. Her lips were pressed against his. It was always a welcomed way to wake up, especially after what just happened. The smell of clean fur, the slightest hint fresh suede and canvas. The taste of clean lips, plain fresh water only slightly more viscous. These were things very welcome after such sickening smells and tastes of his last meaningful memory.

Eric reached his arms up and buried his hands inside Vulpamon's mane. He dragged his hands back and forth rubbing the fur between his fingers. Year's ago the softest, smoothest and warmest thing he ever felt was her mane. To this day nothing topped it.

Vulpamon released her lips from his and buried her head in his neck.

"For a moment I was sure you were dead." She whispered.

"I suppose we're all lucky you were sure." Eric whispered back.

"For a long time I was sure I was dead." Vulpamon continued. "Even as a champion, BloodGazimon was still better than I was."

"So how did you win?"

"We fought for hours, then rain came."

"The rain?"

"The rain came and dumped itself on BloodGazimon. Steam poured out of him. He started to cool off. He became sluggish and short of breath. He was still stronger than me, but he became very tired. He didn't have the energy to compete with me. I turned the battle into a game of cat and mouse, picking away at him slowly. It was dark out before I finally delivered the finishing blow."

"Did you absorb his data?"

"I had no other choice. If I didn't he would've reformed somewhere else, possibly somewhere with many people."

Eric blinked. There was a purpose to his former question, and the answer worried him.

"Does that mean you're going to become like BloodGazimon?" Eric asked.

"No, I won't. Chiroptermon already analyzed the foreign code. It's inside all of us, but it's incompatible with the code of a new Digimon. It's glitching as we speak. In a few days it will glitch itself out of existence. After that we won't even be carriers anymore."

"So… so long as you don't scratch or bite any ancestral Digimon for the next few days everything will be fine."

"That's correct."

"That's one theory proven."

Eric took an especially heavy breath. That was a relief to him more than he could fathom, though he lacked the energy to express it. He moved on to his next concern.

"What is it like…" Eric asked. "What's it like to be a champion?"

Vulpamon took her own deep breath. It was so complicated there was really no way of explaining it. She tried as best she could.

"Her name is Genkomon. She's actually smaller than me, but she can fly, and she can see clearly in almost total darkness. She wears robes of white silk that flow in the wind for many meters, and she has three tails. She's not anywhere near as good a martial artist as I am, but her powers are truly magical. She can flash her eyes blinding all in her path. She can create doubles of herself made of pure fire. And with a rune on a slip of paper, she can engulf her enemies in a column of dissolving light that reaches all the way to the sky."

"That must really be something. I'm sorry I missed her."

"I'm sure you'll see her in all her glory not too far in the future."

"Eric? You awake?"

Eric and Vulpamon looked at each other ever so slightly confused. That last comment came from neither of them.

"C'mere you two gotta' see this."

"Terrance." Eric whispered.

Vulpamon nodded her head.

Vulpamon stood up, quickly followed by Eric who glanced around taking in the scene.

He was back in the monastery all right. He was back in the gathering hall. Only now it was empty of all but a few souls. It was dark outside and most of the lights inside were off. The rain could still be heard beating on the roof. This was the same room Eric woke up in last time. He hadn't moved from that couch.

There was Parsley sleeping in the corner of the room on a pile of pillows, gripping the giant ant Formimon like a teddy bear. Peamon slept in the opposite corner on a single pillow with her wings and legs wrapped in bandages.

It was indescribably fortunate that what the old monk had said earlier was true. Digimon can heal from almost anything short of amputation. By sunrise she Peamon would not even have any scars.

Straight forward was Terrance and Chiroptermon clinging to his back as usual. There were still some scabs around Chiroptermon's face and on his wings, but those would be gone within the hour.

The human wounds would not heal nearly as fast. Also fortunately, they weren't nearly as bad.

Terrance and Chiroptermon both gave a smirk at Eric and Vulpamon, apparently having seen everything that just went on between them. Vulpamon instantly straightened up and folded her arms. Her eyes returned to their usual hostile glare.

"Come here, you have to see this." Chiroptermon spoke up.

Eric and Vulpamon walked toward the center of the room each trying despite their bodies to walk solidly and in a strait line. There was a slight glance of sympathy from Terrance before he sat down and Chiroptermon climbed off to open the laptop on the floor.

Eric and Vulpamon sat down in front of them.

"How are you doing?" Eric asked.

"I feel like crap." Chiroptermon sighed.

"Worst hangover I ever got in me life." Terrance answered. "Not that I had many, but this'll be the worst I know it."

Eric nodded his head in response. "How's Parsley holding up?"

"She doesn't remember anything." Chiroptermon answered. "And it's just as well. It takes something else to make it through what we made it through, and someone that young just doesn't have it."

"We tol' her what all happened." Terrance added. "But it's nothin' like really remembrin' it. I think I'm gonna' have nightmares for the next two months here mate."

Eric nodded again.

"Gazimon…" Eric whispered. "He was just so…" But the words didn't come to him.

"Gazimon are supposed to be aggressive and arrogant. They love to fight and never back down from a challenge." Chiroptermon said. "But there wasn't a single fierce or proud byte in his entire matrix. And that's just something that happens only once, and when it's gone it's gone forever."

The statement made Eric feel queasy, though he couldn't place his finger on why.

"Whoever made this thing is going to pay for it." Eric whispered.

"I'm behind ya' two hundr'd percent there mate." Terrance whispered back.

Vulpamon narrowed her eyes. "We don't even know if it is artificial in origin."

"Not even the worst of diseases will take away your personhood and turn you into a super-powered mutant killing machine." Chiroptermon replied. "It takes a conscious mind to think of something that twisted."

Eric nodded again. "What is it you came to show me?"

"Your compy went off in the middle of the night. Weirdest message I ever saw." Terrance answered.

Eric was handed his metal disk. He pressed the button on the bottom and it flipped up in half. The tiny keypad on the bottom half gave way to the screen on the top. _New Message, unknown Source_ flashed across it.

"I thought my compy was on an encrypted channel." Eric whispered to himself.

"It is." Chiroptermon replied. "They broke through it."

Eric tapped the screen and a new window came up.

_Dear Eric McCaige and Vulpamon  
Dear Terrance Tripp and Chiroptermon  
You have seen now the kind of horror that can be wrought by Digimon madness. We want nothing more than to find a cure for this horrible disease. But no one will ever seek a cure for a disease afflicting a party they care little about. That is why you all must become the new voices of Digimon acceptance.  
Terrance, your love for all Digimon has led you eagerly down the most dangerous of paths, the paths that led you to direct opposition of the Digimon Registration Service. I know you would give your life to save a Digimon, or to expose savageries bestowed upon even one.  
Eric, your love of Digimon has been taken to the most personal of levels. You have rejected everything society has ever preached and taken a Digimon as your lover. It is now more than ever that the bond between you must be exposed, flung in the face of all Digimon haters, and even those who claim to be Digimon lovers, but are still amassed in such bigotry as to call the two of you freaks.  
We need you to help us make the world a better place for all Digimon. It will not be difficult. Tomorrow there will be a march for Digimon rights through the center of Hong Kong. The four of you must be at the front of the march. I wanted to start somewhere that would be receptive to your message just to make things easier on all of you. All details are already taken care of. All you need do is take the Limousine that will arrive on the doorstep of the monastery tomorrow morning.  
Your eternal Patrons,  
Hypnos._

Eric flipped the compy shut and became queasy once again.

"They throw us into the pits, and now they just expect us to go along with whatever they ask?" Eric whispered.

"There's no way." Vulpamon replied.

"Same here." Terrance added in. "'Fore I wrestle any more crocs for these buggers I want some bloody answers."

"I say we trace the message and call them back ourselves." Chiroptermon spoke up. "I've already got the laptop hooked up the monastery's network that should be more than enough power."

"The monastery has a network?" Eric asked.

"Don't they all?" Chiroptermon answered.

"Can you really do this?"

"You ain't neva' seen Chiroppie here go to town on a computer." Terrance said aloud. "Bloke's like a bloody minigun he is. He can do it."

All watched over the shoulder of Chiroptermon as he grabbed the compy from Eric's hand, plugged it into his laptop and went to work on the keyboard with his claws. Images, code, and formulas flashed and disappeared faster than the human eye could register as Chiroptermon's claws typed faster than the human eye could see.

"Whoever they are they got some resources. They encrypted the signal on a four thousand ninety six bits. Then they bounced across the entire communications grid, national, international, military, private, corporate, everything. Half of it isn't even legal. I'm going to have to decrypt it down to two hundred and fifty six bits before I can retrace its steps. Let me introduce you to a little app. of mine I like to call Bat Ware two point oh.  
… … …  
Done! Now let's see where this sucker came from.  
They're not in Hong Kong, Tai Pei, Shanghai, Nanking, Beijing, Ulan Bator, Tibet City, Bangkok, Bhutan, Katmandu, Calcutta, Colombo, Bangalore, Delhi, Islamabad, Bishkek, Kabul, Tehran, Kuwait City, Damascus, Beirut, Ankara, Athens, Naples, Rome, Venice, Bucarest, Budapest, Vienna, Berlin, Moscow, St. Petersburg, Helsinki, Copenhagen, Brussels, Bern, Paris, Madrid, Valencia, Lisbon, Damn these people were thorough. Dublin, London, Birmingham, Hofn, Raykjavik, Julianehaab, Iqaluit, Quebec City, Montreal, Ottowa, New York City, Washington DC, Orlando, Little Rock, Austin, San Antotonio, Tampico, Mexico City, Puebla, Guadalajara, Phoenix, Las Angelis, Las Vegas, Reno, Sacramento, Portland, Seattle, Anchorage, Hilo, Honolulu, Suva, Wellington, Sydney, Rockhampton, Moresby, Palau, Manilla, back to Tai Pei, then to Seol, Wakkanai, Tokyo, Nagoya, Kyoto, Kobe, Hiroshima, I got it!  
They're in Osaka."

Eric fell over backward onto the floor trying to catch his breath from absorbing all that information. These people were in Osaka. Osaka!

Eric jumped back up and hit his hand head against his head.

"Osaka." Eric whispered. "Of all places it was the one I could've guessed on my own."

"How do you figure?" Chiroptermon asked.

"When they mailed me Takato Matsuda's old goggles the package came from Osaka."

"Wow." Chiroptermon added. "Makes the whole thing seem a bit anti-climactic. But it was still pretty cleaver of them to send the signal back to a place it's already been."

"Can you figure out the caller ID?"

"Already did. It's programmed into your compy and waiting for sending."

Chiroptermon pulled Eric's compy out of the laptop and handed it to him. The message he'd longed for a long time was flashing right in front of his face. _Hypnos Osaka ready to send._

With the push of a button the signal went out through the air. A few seconds later, the screen lit up with video.

It was dark. All that could be seen was one hand in the light holding a cigarro with gold leaf embroidery, and the vague shape of a male figure in the shadows.

"Moshi moshi." Spoke the voice of the shape.

It was a raspy, old, and unpleasant voice. The man was tired and upset. Only listening to his first words you could tell. He was angry at nothing in particular. This bitter old man was the one whom all their troubles so far had revolved around. The two parties stared at each other through their screens for several seconds. Looking at this shrouded man time seemed to stand still. There was an odd sense of discomfort looking at him. Even though all you could see was his face you could tell he was a very unpleasant individual. He was a very troubled individual. He was the kind of man who made every one around him on edge. Eric, Vulpamon, Terrance and Chiroptermon were all certainly on edge just looking at his silhouette. But this was the man they were going to get answers from, that is if he didn't hang up first.

The man groaned as if he'd just woken up from being beaten with a baseball bat. He lifted his hand into the shadow and the end of his cigarro brightened telling that he'd just taken another puff. He put his hand back down.

"Hello Hajime." The man said.

He had the voice of a tortured frog. Unpleasant was an understatement about this man.

"I wondered if you would be able to trace me. Let me guess, it was Chiroptermon's doing."

"Uh… I… I…" Was all Eric could get out. Then something snapped. Something the man said made no sense. "Did you just call me Hajime?"

"I did." The man answered before taking another puff of his cigarro. "Tell me what you want Hajime, and make it quick. I'm very busy and I don't care much for people."

"I… uh… I… You deal with him." And Eric handed the compy over to Vulpamon.

"Still depends on you to handle stress for him doesn't he." The old man told Vulpamon. Moreover he was right about it. That didn't make her the least bit comfortable.

"How do you know so much about us?" Vulpamon demanded.

The man took another puff before answering. "I've been watching you for a long time."

This made the fur on the back of Vulpamon's neck stand on end.

"Now what do you want?" He asked again.

Vulpamon put on her very best pissed face, something that could normally make any onlooker quickly move out of the way. It didn't seem to impress this man in the slightest.

"You sent us to this place where we were all almost killed by this mutant Gazimon. Now you expect us to play figurehead for your little schemes? We're not going to, not until we know who you are and we've worked something out."

The man took another puff. "This is unfortunate. Nonetheless I was prepared for such a reaction. Consider tomorrow's march cancelled. The limousine will take you to the airport instead. You will board the plane to Osaka. We will take you to our headquarters and talk there. We will even welcome the little girl.  
I must warn you though, You would've made things unimaginably easier had you just led the march like I told you. Facing off against the mad Gazimon will be like an all expense paid stay at a five star hotel compared to what you've just gotten yourselves into."

The screen flickered and turned off leaving all to ponder the words of the figure they just spoke to.

"Why did he call me Hajime?" Eric whispered to himself. "He knows who my parents are."

"Don't you know who ya' parents are?" Terrance asked.

"All I know about them is that they were a Canadian lawyer and a Korean database analyst. I was adopted by a couple of wasps when I was only a year old. Real straight laced ones too."

"Where are they now?" Chiroptermon asked.

"I don't know. They disowned me after finding out about me and Vulpamon."

"Damn! that must not be the easiest thing to get used to."

"It's easier than you think."

"You trust this bloke?" Terrance asked.

"No!" Eric answered. "But I'd rather risk trusting him than guarantee being his little play thing for the next god knows how many years."

"I'm with you on that one." Chiroptermon added.

"I agree." Vulpamon said softly.

Terrance nodded his head.

"And I know Parsley's going to want to come with us." Eric continued. "Peamon is going to have a fit when she hears about this."


	9. Episode five, part one

**Author Notes:** I seem to have been neglecting Digimon Rising over the past month, so here's an update for all you readers.  
There's something else I've been meaning to say for a while. It's about New Digimon vs Ancestral Digimon. What you know already is that new digimon understand higher politics, science and culture, and are capable of sexual reproduction, whereas ancestral Digimon cannot understand these things, and are asexual.  
But something else you probably don't know is this. All Ancestral digimon can be found in a digimon Encyclopedia, whereas all New Digimon are original creations.

* * *

It was a somewhat odd sight. The monastery built of bamboo and composite beams sprayed with a now peeling red laminate stuck in the middle of a forest on top of a hill. Its power came from an old wood waterwheel on a stream about half a kilometer away that someone had hooked a generator to. No roads were on the tiny island the monastery called home. Only a single lane wide dirt path led from it, to a small village, to a bean farm. 

The odd sight was that out of all the places in the vast and glamorous city, a brand new, mirror polished, royal blue Rolls Royce limo chose the dirt in front of the peeling monastery to park and wait.

It waited a while.

No one wanted to leave the monastery, Eric especially. It was the one place where he wasn't bombarded with questions about his interspecies relationship. But what happened last night was too much for any of them to ignore, or to tolerate. There was a silent agreement among all six of them that whoever sent them there knew full well that they'd be fighting for their lives against BloodGazimon, and that they defied the odds just by being alive. None of them were going to play puppet for someone who was willing to put them through that. Especially someone who, as far as the history books were concerned, ceased to exist almost twenty years ago.

The front door opened and one by one they all walked out onto the porch. Eric, Vulpamon, Terrance with Chiroptermon clinging to his back, and Parsley and Peamon who were the only ones making any sound.

The door to the limo opened and Terrance didn't hesitate to hop inside. Vulpamon soon followed, though Eric hesitated. His hand gripped the edge of the door before he paused and closed his eyes, listening to what went on behind him.

"If you wish to begin anew than that's your business." Peamon pleaded. "All I'm trying to protect now is your life. If you value that at least, please stay here. You're too young to be caught up in these kinds of struggles."

"I don't want to struggle." Parsley sighed back. "I just want to get away from this city."

"Then, when we reach Japan, will you promise not to put yourself in harm's way?"

"Peamon does not tell me what to do."

Parsley ran away from Peamon and jumped into the limo. Purposefully or not, she landed right in the lap of a very surprised Terrance.

"What'ya doin? You about to give me a heart attack there alright!" Terrance shouted out in shock.

"Get me away from this place!" Parsley shouted back.

Peamon sunk her head and sighed. Why did she bother with Parsley anyway? The girl either had a death wish, or was simply blind. Peamon's every attempt to get through to her was met with hostility. Her every effort to protect her was met with insult. That she knew exactly why Parsley did all this was the only thing that made it tolerable. What might have been the consequences had she gave up on Parsley? For one, neither of them would be alive. BloodGazimon would've killed parsley, and she would've been hauled away by the DRS for not having a Tamer. So why did she bother with Parsley anyway? It wasn't for her sake, or for her tamer's. She did it because it was her job.

Peamon held back tears of frustration and swallowed her spit. She ambled to the limo when an arm blocked her path. She looked up to see Eric shaking his head at her.

"Leaver her alone." Eric said. "At least for now."

* * *

The plane ride was the most pleasant thing any of them had experienced in the past few days. They were boarded first class on a giant Boeing 88X, a flying wing. For a moment one of them wondered how the word got by in days when planes were cylinders with small wings, how cramped that must've been not to have a single, massive hollow wing.

Eric lay back in his oversized suede chair and looked in front of him. An internet terminal, a large monitor, and a plate with slabs of roast duck between two beds of spicy yellow rice. Everyone was given something to eat whether they wanted it or not. Eric was one who didn't want it.

He looked to the isle. First class flying from Hong Kong came with its own red carpets and chandeliers, sometimes rattling from turbulence. Looking further down the isle, there were slot machines and poker and mahjong tables where you could bet real money, and a bar just across from the mini casino. Waitresses patrolled the aisles regularly asking anyone if they needed anything. No expense was spared in luxury, and Eric, Terrance, Parsley and their Digimon were the only ones who looked out of place, without nice suits or world class grooming.

The discomfort from the old restaurant crept back to Eric and he squirmed in his seat. He looked out the window hoping the sights would distract him. No luck. The only sights were ocean and clouds.

Vulpamon insisted on sitting wherever no one else was in three seats of her. The luxury was getting to her as well. For someone who lived as a nomad for much of her life, this was something she was used to even less than her tamer. She sat motionless with her arms crossed and mouth turned down, looking out the window. Not even her ears or tail twitched.

Eric had to find something to relieve this tension. He knew if he sat with Vulpamon they'd both end up complaining about the situation, which wouldn't help things in the slightest. He looked around some more. Chiroptermon ate his pieces of fried shrimp with his bare hands, and lapped up his soup straight from the bowl while Terrance laid his feet right on his internet terminal. Terrance and Chiroptermon could be placed in a five star resort and treat it like a high school cafeteria. That would've been something. It was something.

Eric got up and walked toward Terrance and Chiroptermon.

"So I was just sayin' that this here bloke with the toad 'n his throat could prob'ly get us some new gear." Terrance spoke into the air, waving his hands. "Like a new camera, compies, laptops. Hell he'd probably get you a neuro interface if ya' wanted."

Chiroptermon didn't listen. He was far to busy stuffing his face. Terrance licked his finger and stuck in Chiroptermon's ear.

"Ggggnnnnrrrrrrrr!" Chiroptermon squealed as he squirmed from Terrance's finger twisting in his ear.

Eric coughed.

Both Terrance and Chiroptermon looked up from what they were doing and stared blank face at Eric. Terrance's finger was still in Chiroptermon's ear.

"Can I talk to you." Eric asked softly.

Terrance removed his finger from Chiroptermon's ear and wiped it on his shirt. Terrance and Chiroptermon both looked at each other. They looked back to Eric.

"Which one of us?" They both said in unison.

"Either one of you."

Terrance and Chiroptermon looked at each other again, both blinking once or twice, and looked again back at Eric.

"Well," Chiroptermon said. "There's something I've been wanting to ask you. If you'd let me sit next to you."

Eric nodded his head. Chiroptermon followed him in something between an awkward waddle and a crawl the ways to his seat. Eric looked back at Chiroptermon curiously as he seemed to struggle to crawl/waddle behind him. It was no wonder then why Chiroptermon so liked to piggyback on his tamer. A giant bat's primary method of transportation is flying. With the eight foot ceiling of the cabin that was impossible, so being carried was probably an incredible convenience. Eric didn't consider offering that himself. Tamer and Digimon had a kind of bond that would allow that, which Eric only had with Vulpamon.

Eric sat in his seat next to window while Chiroptermon struggled to climb up atop the adjacent seat. Eric looked out the window into the clouds and ocean, not aware that Chiroptermon was already propped up in his seat and kneeling toward him.

"Hey Eric?" Chiroptermon asked.

Eric was a bit startled and shook his head before turning to Chiroptermon.

"Let me guess, it's about me and Vulpamon?" Eric asked.

"Actually," Chiroptermon answered. "It's about your parents, your adoptive ones anyway."

"That's something few people ever ask me about." Eric whispered.

"Well, you don't seem to sad about being disowned by them. I was just wondering why?"

"Why?" Eric closed his eyes. A minute or so passed with stillness. Eric had to think about the answer to that question. "Only my adoptive mother disowned me. I was never very keen on her anyway.  
"My parents were a couple of conservative protestant business reps with hot waxed shoes. They always hammered into me that the true place of Digimon was at the end of a leash being held by a human. Now don't get me wrong, they loved Digimon and they both grew up with them. But they were dead set on your kind being servants and pets, never equals.  
"I never really questioned this until… well we traveled allot and one day we were in Paris. I was walking down the street at night when two guys with knives mugged me. I tried fighting them only to get a two inch scar across my hip. Then out of nowhere Vulpamon fell down like from the sky and took them both out like it was nothing. A bunch of other stuff happened and it ended with me adopting her as a tamer and her teaching me how to fight. I never imagined a Digimon could teach a human. It went against everything I was ever told. Then, well you know what happened after that. It was really then that got into Takato Matsuda's books about how wonderful and Digimon are and how they make the world a better place and all that crap."

"And the more your parents told you the place of Digimon after that, the madder you got at them, right?" Chiroptermon asked.

"Neither of them could tell why I was so pissed at them all the time. But it was mostly just my adoptive mother. My adoptive father really never believed in any of the things he swore by and just did it because she ran all their money."

Eric rested his hand on his upper lip and stared off into space. This was the first time since the incident at the Tokyo Sky City 3 that he had the luxury of really thinking about what all had happened to him during the past week.

Everything rushed past him in an instant. Pissing off the Japanese Parliament, getting disowned, being sent his hero's goggles, then coming to Hong Kong due to nothing more than hero worship and fighting an insane mutant Digimon, almost being killed in the process.

Eric's body tensed up involuntarily. He gripped the handrails of his seat while cold sweat poured down his face. He started hyperventilating. Thinking fast and acting fast, Chiroptermon looked around and found a small round pillow beneath the seat. He reached down and grabbed it and swung it at Eric, pressing it into his face. Eric screamed as loud as he could into the pillow. The sight and sound attracted several stares, but at that point neither Eric nor Chiroptermon cared.

Eric quit screaming and Chiroptermon let the pillow drop to the floor.

"Thanks." Eric squeaked, shaking like a leaf.

"I do that all the time for Terrance when he's about to scream like that." Chiroptermon responded. "By the way, why'd you do that?"

"I just thought of everything that happened this week for the first time this week… I need a drink."

Eric stood up and walked toward the bar rubbing his head from sweat and headache.

Without the stimulation of Chiroptermon's presence, Terrance was uncontrollably bored. Perhaps he didn't show affection to his Digimon in the classic sense, but the bond was there, and could be seen when they were apart for even a moment. Terrance became jittery, twiddled his fingers and started whistling a tune to himself. He looked over to Chiroptermon now getting up from his seat on the other side of first class. Good, soon Chiroptermon would be back and there would be something to occupy his attention. There were few things that made Terrance more antsy than nothing, and in that respect Chiroptermon was a blessing.

But Parsley beat him to the seat. She quickly took her place in the seat next to Terrance and looked up at him curiously. Terrance blinked and raised his eyebrows. Talking to someone he'd met only days ago was something at least, and it was something he was fairly good at.

"Good'ay. So what'cha wanna talk about?" Terrance asked, immediately relaxing.

"What do you want to talk about?" Parsley asked back, trying to sound as friendly and suggestive as she could.

Terrance was either blind or really good at ignoring, either way he gave no sign of being aware of Parsley's clearly suggestive nature.

"Well, I kind'a wanted to talk about ya' folks?"

"You mean my parents."

Parsley instantly changed from sweet to sour at that implication. She came to Terrance to get away from the subjects of her family, her city, and her Digimon, and ended up talking about one of them anyway.

"What exactly'd they do to ya'?" Terrance asked.

Parsley looked away from Terrance and scowled. "Nothing's more important than being loyal to your family legacy."

"I see how you could feel that way." Terrance said while nonchalantly scratching behind his neck.

"That's what they always told me." Parsley continued. "That's what everyone in Hong Kong always told me. But to them… loyalty's just a fashion show."

"I don't really get whatch'a mean there mate, but it don't sound kindly."

Parsley nodded her head. Terrance looked over at her and saw a very unhappy look on her down turned face. The antsyness from before was coming back. Parsley was able to sense Terrance's discomfort allot better than he could sense hers.

"How did you meet Chiroptermon?" Parsley asked.

"Chiroptermon?" Terrance spoke softly. "Well, it was me eighth birthday. It was just me and mum in a wheat field outside'a Newcastle. There wasn't anyone else for ten clicks. It was a helluva lonesome way to grow up. So on me eighth birthday, me mum took me down to Sydney to register a Digimon. We went to an adoption centa', they told me Chiroptermon had been there for six years."

"Why?" Parsley asked.

"Well, not many people wanna' be tamer of a giant bat. We started talkin' and something snapped between us. We took him down to the local DRS office and got him registered. 'Fore we knew it, it was like we'd been together our whole lives."

"It was much better than my life before that I'll tell you."

Terrance and Parsley were a bit surprised at the new voice. They looked to the side and saw Chiroptermon staring at them.

"What do you mean?" Parsley asked.

"Well…" Chiroptermon began. "I was from the second generation of new Digimon. My parents were killed when I was just a year old. I wandered the Digital World until I was seven and finally decided to Bioemerge. I met up with the DRS only a few days after that. They told me to go to a Digimon Adoption center or they'd kill me. The choice was obvious.

"Those six years after that was the most boring time of my life. The only thing that kept me sane was reading the library of computer and electronic textbooks they had… over and over again. Digimon after Digimon came and went while I stayed.  
"Like Terrance said. Nobody wanted to adopt a giant bat, until Terrance came along. Something sparked between us, and then I knew I wouldn't ever be bored out of my mind again. He registered himself as my tamer a day later.  
"… You okay?"

Chiroptermon was a bit shocked to see Parsley openly crying at the story, though without sobbing. Parsley turned and ran without responding. Terrance and Chiroptermon looked at each other a bit confused, each wondering what either of them could've said that so disturbed her.

Vulpamon stared out the window continuing her motionlessness. Though her body was still, her brain was moving at a mile a minute. Her ears took in everything from her section of first class. Eric's sudden burst of emotion, the story of Terrance and Chiroptermon which seemed to mysteriously well up some hidden despair within Parsley. And she too was suffering. She suffered the same thing everyone there was. Though some of them showed it while others didn't, and others still weren't aware of it.

She heard Eric's definitive footsteps walking up to her. She didn't move as he sat down, buried his face in shoulder, and cried. She put her arms around his shoulder.

"I don't," Eric wheezed. "I don't know why…"

"I know why." Vulpamon didn't give Eric time to finish his statement. "The stress we've all been through this past week was intense. But when you have a job to do, you force yourself not to realize the presence of that stress so that you can do it. Now that we finally have a break, however short, it's all coming to the surface."

* * *

Everyone was silent in their limo, a different one than what they all rode only ten hours ago, a Toyota for one, and jet black. No one looked at each other. They all looked out the windows at the passing buildings of Osaka. It was so unlike Tokyo, though Eric and Vulpamon were the only ones who could truly tell. It was mostly suburbs with decent splashes of greenery here and there. Architecture was far more in the realm of traditional Japanese than the purely modernist Tokyo. Even in the commercial districts the buildings were relatively small for a big city in a metropolitan nation, or at least they were small compared when compared with the towering sights of an even bigger city. The streets were narrow. Pedestrians dressed far more casually as well. Only about a quarter of passers by wore suits, as opposed to Tokyo's two thirds. 

Soon the limo passed through underground parking lots, a series of restricted access doors led to underground tunnels. Everyone continued to look out the windows. They were in a plain concrete tube very much like the one a subway would ride through, but this one was for cars. Lights along the ceiling alternated the outside between light and dark. The tunnel went on for what appeared to be several miles. One final circular steel door rolled open for the car to enter one final underground parking lot. It looked just like all the others they'd passed through, only with the circular steel door as the only means of going in or out.

The limo parked and they were all led through the parking lot to a large elevator, one of a dozen line dup next to each other. Inside was ovoid with polished chrome walls and light purple florescent lights for a ceiling. Still, no one said a word, and no one was surprised at the sights. They all knew just how powerful and secret Hypnos was from their history classes. The petite, young chauffer in her fine tuxedo and short hair did not follow them inside As soon as the doors had closed, the bottom light flashed and the elevator began its descent. B12, it said, and it was currently on B1. Everyone was silent for the trip.

The door opened to a long, dimly lit hallway with nice wood doors on either side numbered from A1 to C9. The hall was made of black stone with plain square chairs of anodized metal placed periodically. They all looked down the hallway toward the final, double door of a steel frame wrapping around faded and tinted glass. It was obviously their destination. They walked toward it. It opened to welcome them.

Inside was almost eerily dark and cold. If it were bright enough, they would've been able to see their breath. Who would live in such a place? Someone always surrounded by darkness and cold was someone whose feelings had long ago gone numb.

The stone floors from before were kept, and six leather office chairs gathered around a central desk. That was all they could tell from what little light there was. A lump formed in the throats of each of them. The scent of floral spirits and sweet, luxury tobacco filled the air. It wasn't unpleasant, but it was frightening. Whoever they were going to confront lived off the end of a cigarette and the bottom of a bottle. They had all either had bad experiences, or heard very bad things about people like this.

"Please, sit down." Came the same metallic, toad like voice they had tracked down the signal of in monastery.

The door slid shut behind them, they seemed to have little choice now.

Eric and Terrance stood with appalled faces at the voice. Parsley shook and hid behind Terrance's legs, while Peamon kept to her side eyeing the darkness suspiciously. Chiroptermon gripped Terrance's shoulders a little tighter while looking out into whatever couldn't be seen. Vulpamon clenched her fists nervously behind her back so that her anxiety couldn't be seen.

"I said sit down." The voice said again, this time in a commanding tone.

Terrance shuffled his feet out of nervousness and was finally the first one to sit down. Everyone else followed suit soon after.

The lights above flickered and turned on. It still wasn't bright, but it was bright enough at least to see who their mysterious benefactor, or perhaps enemy, was.

He looked as horrid as he sounded. His hair was pure white and messy, tangled and dirty. His skin was almost as white as his hair. The skin on his face drooped down as if weights were attached to it. His mouth hung open in exhaustion, and his eyes could barely hold themselves open. No one knew weather to attribute his expression to rage, or sadness, or maybe just disgust. He looked like an empty shell of a man, stripped of his dignity and humanity through a lifetime of systematic trauma. His tan denim shirt was the only thing pleasant looking on him.

He was old, but none could guess his age. He could very well have looked twenty years older than he was.

The old man took a deep breath of his rust colored cigarro and flopped his arm back down on his scratched up wooden desk. Other than the desk, the chairs, and a tiny laptop in front of the old man, and a bottle of some exorbitant brand of sake, there was nothing in the office. There was nothing at all.

No one could sit at ease in that place,

"I realize you all could've been killed at the monastery." The old man said. "But it was the most convenient way to get you to see our perspective."

"The most convenient?" Vulpamon whispered hostilly.

"Weather we see your perspective or not, the fact remains you willingly put us all in mortal danger, and you have yet to compensate or excuse your behavior." Peamon just managed to avoid yelling.

"There is no excuse." The old man responded. "I wanted you to see just how twisted Digimon Madness was, and that was the easiest way of doing it. As for compensation, just name your price."

"Gettin out'a this bloody game o' yours is enough for me thank you." Terrance nearly growled.

"It's too late for that." The old man responded. "You are all already too far into it to get out now. That's why I warned you against coming here over the compy. You've all reached the point of no turning back as soon as you saw our headquarters."

"So I assume this means we're going to be working for you despite whatever we think?" Eric asked.

"You all could've gotten out of this forever just by refusing to participate in the march." The old man said. " But now you've gotten yourselves too far in above your heads. None of you can go back now."

"Whatever your schemes are," Peamon pleaded. "Do not make Parsley part of them. She is only a little girl and is not ready to face such hardships or such decisions."

The old man waved his hand in the air. "Only if she agrees never to leave this complex."

"I won't agree to that." Parsley spoke out, shaking her head.

"Than your request is impossible Peamon."

Peamon tightened her chest muscles and clamped her beak shut in anger to keep from lashing out.

"Why does this involve Digimon Madness?" Chiroptermon shouted.

"That information is on a need to know basis only." The old man answered.

"Well who are you anyway?" Parsley asked.

"That information is on a need to know basis only." The old man answered.

"Could you at least tell us what you want with us?" Eric asked.

The old man took another breath of his cigarro, and swilled down an entire cup of sake. He cleared his throat and huffed before running his fingers through his hair.

"Every great civil revolution spawns people who are looked upon as leaders of that movement. None of them sought to be what they became, and most would much rather have remained in obscurity. What chooses these individuals out of countless more who are qualified, I can only can the force of history. These people, against their own wishes come to symbolize the movements that chose them, and in turn they inspire their movements into success.  
"Take the example of the civil rights movement in the nineteen sixties United States. A young black woman named Rosa Parks was arrested for refusing to give up her seat at the front of a bus to a white man. Now Ms. Parks wasn't trying to make any kind of example. She wasn't trying to stand up for herself. In fact she acted purely out of selfish and primitive anger. Looking at the incident from a linear perspective, Ms. Parks was actually being quite rude. Moreover hers was not the only act of black defiance taking place at that time. Every day, dozens, if not hundreds of incidents very similar to her own took place across the country. So what was it that singled her out to be a symbol for civil rights above everyone else who defied the racist legal system?  
"Well, I can't tell you what it was. But what I can tell you is that Ms. Parks was extraordinary not because of her act of defiance, but because she accepted the grandiose role thrust upon her in the aftermath, and played it out as best she could. Thusly she helped to lead the civil rights movement faster toward its goal.  
"That's what I see in you all. You are ordinary people, each thrust into extraordinary circumstances. Terrance and Chiroptermon, you have dedicated your lives to following the Digimon Registration Services and recording their acts of brutality for the world to see. Though so far none have been privy to your efforts, I can make that happen.  
"As for you two, Hajime and Vulpamon. You are most like the former Parks in that a single, selfish act of cultural defiance has now thrust you two into the spotlight of the Digimon rights movement."

"It has?" Eric asked. "How?"

"The day after your little exhibition at Sky City 2, hundreds of Digimon rights marches erupted throughout the world with marchers holding animated banners of your make out session."

"It's true ya' know" Terrance spoke up. "There was one in Sydney the day I got my ticket to Hong Kong."

"Curiously," Chiroptermon added. "The anti-Digimon marches showed the same banners."

"I must not have been paying attention." Eric whispered.

"Actually," the old man interrupted. "I was shielding you from the attention of the media and the public… well, as much as I could anyway."

"So you want us to become the figureheads for the Digimon rights movement?" Vulpamon asked.

The old man pointed at her. "Precisely."

"What about us?" Parsley spoke up.

"It was chance that you ended up with them, and your relationship to Peamon isn't exactly conducive of what I had planned for them. Nonetheless, you're here now, so you'll have to play by our rules."

"I just have two more question." Eric blurted out.

The old man waved his hand.

"I thought Hypnos was disbanded?"

"They were disbanded. The history books say Hypnos became a radical anti-Digimon organization right after the opening of the Shinjuku gate and the pouring of Digimon through it into our world."

"They were the ones who put the firewall around the gate to keep the Digimon out." Chiroptermon interrupted.

"And the ones who created the DRS." Parsley added grumbling.

"And later they tried to take down the firewall to send the DRS into a full scale invasion of the Digital World." The old man continued. "But instead they just let through thousands more Digimon into ours. That's when they were disbanded. That's what the history books say, and the history books were right. "We are not Hypnos. We only use the name to confuse our would be enemies. You're seccond?"

"Who are my real parents?"

"Come again?"

"You keep calling me Hajime." Eric almost yelled. "I can only assume that was my birthname. You know who my real parents are. Tell me."

"You're not ready for that information."

Eric growled and grumbled under his breath.

"So will you help us or not?" the old man barked.

"Do we have a choice?" Vulpamon asked.

The old man giggled to himself. "Of course you do. It's just that if you choose no, you can never leave our headquarters."

Eric tossed his head in his hands. He now began to curse the moment he received those old goggles in the mail.

"I just need some sleep." Eric mumbled.

* * *

Eric's eyelids twitched and flickered before slowly opening. The room provided for him was opulent even by his standards. He lay in a king sized bed under silk comforters, his head supported by memory foam pillows. His first clear sight was of the Guilmon head pillow between his arms. 

The room he was in was larger than the master bedrooms of most luxury town homes. There were desks and entertainment centers and bookshelves filled with a world of old volumes, computers and stereo equipment. A closet was filled with fresh clothes from fine suits to jeans and t-shirts. It connected to a gold and marble bathroom almost as large as the bedroom itself.

A thought suddenly occurred to Eric that he was trapped inside a four star prison with world class room service. He thought back to just before he snuck into the courthouse of Sky City 2. Vulpamon warned him of what might happen if they went through with their plans. What exactly had he gotten himself into? Whatever it was, it might be okay if it was him alone. What exactly had he gotten Vulpamon into? He'd always deferred to her, but in this case it was he who made the journey, and she who followed. He knew why she did it. He wasn't able to handle tough situations himself. He was likely to break down when the demands on him became too high. She was always the one who crutched him through tough times. She came with him because she knew he would need her to help him through whatever he would get himself into. But Vulpamon was always direly independent. She would never be dragged along as the subject of someone else's ambitions willingly. So why did she do this for him? She did it for him. The answer was all too clear.

Eric smiled and rolled over. Vulpamon was still asleep. Her arm remained draped over his waist through his adjustment. He stared right into her sleeping face and kissed her nose causing her face to twitch.

"Thank you" He whispered.

Still clutching his Guilmon pillow, Eric stood up and yawned. He wore only his boxers. Even his treasured goggles rested on the lamp desk next to the bed. He scratched his head and yawned as he walked toward the door. The tinted, faded glass slided into the wall as he approached. Stepping barefoot from Berber carpet to cold steel floor, he immediately stepped back and stuck his feet inside a pair of slippers next to the door before walking out again.

Wandering around dimly lit steel hallways for several minutes, Eric finally found what he had glimpsed when he was being escorted to his room in B3. A small rectangular kitchen built right into the wall, no doorway. He walked from the steel to the tile to see a feint light and something digging through the refrigerator.

Eric squinted and stepped lightly closer. The creature stopped and lifted its head from the fridge and sniffed the air curiously. It turned its perplexed head toward Eric and dropped everything in its hands, bread, meat, cheese and milk, to the floor.

Eric could only stare baffled and shocked at what he saw. He knew it so well even though he'd never seen it before. The familiar red raptor's face filled with glee and excitement as it looked Eric eye to eye. Its lip trembled and its tail wriggled in anticipation.

In its childlike voice it spoke. "Hajime?… Hajime! It is you, it is!"

Eric looked down at his pillow and back up at the creature in front of him.

"You… you're…"

"Heh! Heh! Heh!" the creature giggled. "Guilmon!"


	10. Episode five, part two

Author notes: Sorry about the delay in getting this in, but my internet went down for a week before I learned how to repair it.

* * *

Guilmon's tail wriggled a little faster. His fingers trembled, his lower lip quivered, and his eyes watered. It seemed every nerve in Guilmon's body was aching to lash out in excitement, but he was still in too much shock. Guilmon lifted his fingers to his mouth and in his tension, nibbled in the end of his nails.

Eric as well was in too much shock to do anything except stare at the legendary Digimon standing right in front of him. The red skin, the white belly, the runic black stripes, the bizarre yellow eyes. Everything about him seemed to confirm that Eric was indeed looking at the real Guilmon, the Digimon whose cranial likeness he held in his hand. How long Eric would've stood there in awe could not be known. The excitement inside Guilmon built up to intolerable levels, and finally burst out.

Guilmon leapt into the air and right on top of Eric. Eric dropped his pillow and shielded his face from the raptor's sudden bombardment of licking, hugging and giggling. Guilmon clamored about over Eric like a puppy trying to get up and through to attack Eric's face with his tongue. Eric's shock at seeing Guilmon now became fright. He desperately tried to push away Guilmon's muzzle and scramble backward in a futile attempt to find safety. But the giggling slowly died down and the licking became slower until it was no more. Eric still struggled until he realized he was no longer being attacked. He was sitting up against a steel cupboard while Guilmon squeezed him hard enough to make breathing difficult, and pressed his head against Eric's chest.

"It is you Hajime." Guilmon spoke. "It's so good! It's so good to finally see you!"

Eric could do nothing but stare down at Guilmon still in shock. The very Digimon that belonged to his hero was not only right in front of him, but treating him as a puppy would after seeing its master after days of separation. His shock from before was only heightened by Guilmon's sudden behavior.

"I finally get to see you!" Guilmon whispered, momentarily squeezing Eric a bit harder.

Eric looked down to his side. A small denim pillow in the likeness on Guilmon's face looked back up at him. Eric looked back at Guilmon trying to press himself closer to Eric. Guilmon raised his head and looked up at Eric's eyes. The bewilderment and disbelief was obvious even to a creature like him. Guilmon stood up, letting Eric breath easier. Still smiling and still wriggling his tail, Guilmon giggled under his breath at Eric's reaction.

"That's right!" Guilmon assured Eric, pointing to himself with both paws. "It's really me!"

Eric blinked, the first sigh that he was at last coming to grips with what he saw. After a pause, Eric lifted a hand to touch the side of Guilmon's face. Guilmon closed his eyes and almost cooed as he leaned into Eric's hand. Eric brought his hand back down and looked at it for a time. He looked back up.

"You're real." Eric whispered.

"Of course I'm real!" Guilmon almost yelled back. "What else would I be!"

"I thought… I thought… I thought I was…"

"Seeing things? Heh, heh, heh. Nope! I'm the one and only one hundred percent Guilmon."

Eric leaned forward, still fairly dazed and astonished at the situation. He leaned forward, now on his hands and knees, to look more closely at Guilmon. It was his last assurance that he wasn't just imagining what was happening. Guilmon blinked curiously at Eric's behavior. Eric swallowed his spit and asked the very first thing that came to hi mind.

"Is Takato Matsuda also here?"

"Oh yeah!" Guilmon answered nodding. "He's here too."

"And the others?"

"Other whats?"

"The original Tamers!" Eric could only grunt out being out of breath. "Are they here?"

"Oh yeah! Almost all of them. There's Rika, Lee, Kazu and Kenta, Suzie and all their Digimon too! The only ones that aren't here are Ryo and Jeri and Alice."

Eric sat up again and leaned back. Resting his head against his hand for a moment, Eric then fell backward onto the floor. He ignored the pain the sharp thud gave him and stared up into the dull ceiling lights. Guilmon's head pushed its way into view.

"You okay Hajime?" Guilmon asked.

"This is too much." Eric whimpered, shaking his head slowly.

"Well in that case I can say they're not all here."

"I don't think that'll help."

Eric's hands were weak. Still, he tried to pus himself back up to a sitting position. Guilmon was quick to help, lifting Eric up by the arms. Eric leaned against the steel cupboard again, and rested his head in his hand again. He almost didn't notice Guilmon nudging his shoulder with his muzzle.

"Hey Hajime?" Guilmon asked.

Eric's eyes narrowed. This was the first time since he'd seen Guilmon that he realized something was wrong. His name was _Eric_, but he was being called _Hajime_, just as he'd been by that wretch of an old man. Eric was an expert on all things both Takato and Guilmon, and he knew the Digimon's personality in and out, even though he'd never met him before this moment. Now it seemed Guilmon was an expert in all things him as well. Still, Eric knew any question asked of Guilmon would probably be answered truthfully.

"Guilmon?" Eric asked.

"Yeah?" Guilmon tilted his head as if forgetting he was originally the one with a question.

"Why do you call me Hajime?"

"Well because that's your naAAiieegghh!"

Guilmon shrieked in pain and clutched his right paw. He rubbed its palm and whimpered while biting his lower lip and tearing up his eyes. Eric umped at the display, and Justas quickly crawled right in front of Guilmon and put his hands on the Digimon's right arm.

"What's wrong?" Eric asked nearly panic stricken.

Guilmon motioned his head toward the hallway just two meters away outside the kitchen. Eric looked up. That wretched old man stood in the hallway. His face still bore down unknown decades of misery. His expression was mostly unchanged, that of annoyed fatigue. But now there was the slightest hint of anger. The old wretch held right hand open in front of him as he pushed needle into his palm with his left. Eric looked back and forth between the two figures. Guilmon was in pain because this old man was sticking himself with a needle. Guilmon looked pleadingly at the old man to stop.

"He doesn't need to know that." The old man muttered before removing the needle from his own hand.

Guilmon instantly relaxed and sighed in relief at this. He let go of his own hand and slumped down onto the floor. Eric continued to look back and forth between the old man and Guilmon.

"How did you do that?" Eric asked.

"You should already know." The old man answered.

Eric blinked. The answer came to him painfully like an unexpected burn.

"Takato Matsuda." Eric whispered.

"Come to my office." The old Takato demanded.

* * *

This was only Eric's second time at this office. Already he thought it was a bad place to find oneself . The sake was gone and the cigarros were tucked away, but the smell lingered, as if it had permeated the blackened glass walls and concrete floor. Only one thing really changed since Eric's last time here. The lights were on ever so slightly. Eric could see Takato's entire face and figure clearly. It was true, Takado Matsuda had not shown his face in public for the past twenty years, but Eric never imagined his hero could look like this today, or do these kinds of things. Takato was so demanding Eric didn't even have time to put something else on. He sat in the cold metal chair in just a pair of shorts and house slippers.

Eric shifted nervously in his seat. Takato closed his eyes and shook his head slowly.

"You weren't supposed to find out." Takato said.

"About you and the others?" Eric asked back.

Takato nodded his head before opening his eyes. "It complicates things to no end. But I can't change that now."

Eric and Takato stared at each other for an unbearably long time, at least for Eric. In reality it had been less than a minute, but in his current state of mind it seemed like many more. Eric shifted in his seat again. Takato was absolutely relaxed as opposed to Eric's being as nervous and fidgety as a coked up badger. It seemed this new Takato was an expert at ignoring awkward moments. Eric was not. It became too much for him to handle.

"I read all five of your books." Eric said suddenly.

"I wrote seven books." Takato grunted in response. "I only published five."

This new Takato seemed also to be an expert at ending conversations before they started. Eric fidgeted in his seat again.

"You've always been my hero Takato." Eric tried to start up another. "I know you've been a recluse for the past twenty two years, but I never… what happened to you? And why do you do these things."

Takato narrowed his eyes and let out the mildest smile. He leaned back into his chair and put his arms behind his head. It seemed to Eric that he'd finally said something Takato was interested in delving into.

"Many people consider me their hero," Takato answered. "but none of them know what kind of man I truly am. If they did, they would forsake me in a single breath."

"What kind of man are you?" Eric asked knowing that was the only way to get Takato to continue.

"Everywhere I see myself, I see myself portrayed as a shining beacon of light, a kind of saint, the grand all hero and idol of the Digimon's rights movement."

Takato sighed slumped forward. He reached down and pulled open an unseen drawer in his desk. Up to his mouth came a hand holding a gold embossed cigarrro between its fingers and an unmarked silver zippo in its palm. Takato lit up and took a puff before going on.

"I was that man once. I was the saint everyone thought me to be. But that was a long, long time ago. I'm not a saint anymore, I'm not a great man, I'm not a good person, I'm even a decent human being anymore."

"How so?" Eric asked.

"Things that I've done." Takato answered. He took another puff and signed. "After building this whatever the hell you call it from the ruins of Hypnos, it's turned me into something else. I'm now a hateful, spiteful, miserable, deceitful, immoral, shameless, and wretched old man.  
"All in the name of the future of Digimon… heh, heh, heh, I steal, I deceive, I hurt people, and I destroy lives just to get what I want. If you had even the slightest glimpse as to what kind of man I truly am, you would spend the rest of your life hating me. I am nobody's hero Hajime, least of all yours."

"If that's true," Eric asked. "Than what was the point in everything you wrote in your books?"

"Those… were just my half-assed attempts at redemption, trying to inspire others to be better people than I am. But it's too late for me to ever redeem myself. All I can do now is continue doing what I've been doing, and hope that the ends would justify the means."

"And if they don't"

"That case would just mean the difference between an unscrupulous freedom fighter and an evil bastard. There's a very fine line between the two of them anyway."

"Do you kill people?" Eric asked.

Takato didn't answer, but only took another puff of his cigarro. It was an answer in the affirmative of what Eric had just asked, Takato just didn't want to say it out loud. They both knew this, and they both knew that they both knew.

Eric wanted to get off the subject, and fast.

"Were you the one who attacked me in the parking garage at Sky City 2"

"No." Takato answered. "As far as I can tell, that was the lower house member Keitaro Kondo. I believe you met him in the courthouse, greasy slicked back hair and cheap chrome suit."

Eric remembered the lower house member in question. He'd scarcely seen a more sleazy looking man

_The world leaders inside the courtroom sat in their seats on balconies high above a center staging area where a select few people were bickering with each other. They seemed content just to sit and listen to the ramblings of young member of the Japanese lower house with slicked back hair and a tacky chrome colored suit._

"I kind of figured it was him actually." Eric said. "There's one more thing I want to ask you."

Takato took another puff of his cigarro and raised one eyebrow.

"What exactly do you want out of me? I mean, you gave this whole speech about me being the next symbol of history or some other crap, but what exactly do you want me to do… I mean the specifics."

"It will be simple." Takato answered. "Lead marches, give speeches. Make appearances. I'll take care of all the details myself, you need only follow the script I give you."

"So now I'm reduced to an actor in your play?"

"I know you better than you think Hajime. A small price to pay for achieving your dreams, that's what you would say."

Eric huffed, it was specific, but not specific enough. Takato seemed to get the idea.

"First thing's first." Takato spoke up again. "All I want you to do atthe moment is the march that you refused in Hong Kong. It might actually be beneficial that you did because the place I really wanted a march to go though is now right next door."

"And that is?" Eric asked.

"Shinjuku Tokyo." Takato answered. "The place where it all started."

"I remember." Eric whispered. "That's where you first fought D-Reaper, where the first microgates were opened and then sealed."

"And where the first macrogate, the Shinjuku Gate, was opened one year later." Takato finished. "The march will both begin and end at the Shinjuku Gate, and will eight miles through Shinjuku before returning to it."

Eric looked down at the floor. His face was without expression. He couldn't soak in what was happening, at least not yet. It was also late, and he was tired. He couldn't think straight at the moment, and he knew it. And if he couldn't think straight, he could make a decision and even hold hope that it might be a wise one.

"How long do I have to make my choice?" Eric asked.

"As long as you want." Takato answered.

* * *

Eric looked at the clock on the wall. 11:17 it read, that meant 11:17 in the morning since the Japanese ran off military time. Eric didn't get many more hours of sleep that night, but it was enough to be fully lucid once morning came. He was now fully dressed in his jeans, jean jacket, black shirt and antique goggles on his forehead. He looked down at a plate of pancakes and sausage set in front of him in the table in an unnecessarily luxurious living room on whatever floor of this complex was meant for casual recreation. His hand lay just behind the frayed flap of skin behind Guilmon's ear, who now happily rested his head on Eric's lap.

Ever since the stunt at Sky City 2 he'd been living from one state of alarm to the next. It was only now that he realized his life would never again see any semblance of normality. Takato gave him the option to stay away from this new life, but like an idiot Eric refused. But he would go with it, and he would keep his head, if for no other reason than to support the ones he dragged along him. Terrance, Chiroptermon, Parsley, and Peamon. None of them had realized what Eric just had.

Everything Eric ever dreamed of had just come true. Not only did he meet the great Takato Matsuda, he was now working for the man. Even the legendary Guilmon had taken to him as if they'd known each other for years. Guilmon did know him! He had known Eric for years, even though they'd never met in person. Proof of that was in how Guilmon would call him Hajime.

Eric had always fantacized about such a thing and how elated he would be about it. But Eric was anything but elated at this moment. He was depressed, scared, and angry. Takato Matsuda was a self-proclaimed _hateful, spiteful,_ _miserable, deceitful, immoral, shameless, and wretched old man_. With all that he pulled on this assorted bunch of unfamiliar Digimon tamers, Eric was about ready to believe it.

There was no movement. Only distant dripping water could be heard. And then…

"Aaaahhhh!" Eric screamed as loud as he could for as long as he could.

He felt a little bit better.

"You're on the same train of thought we are huh?"

Eruc turned around to in a jolt to see Terrance smirking at him with hi hands on his hips. Chiroptermon peaked out from over Terrance's shoulder, the one who asked the question.

"I'm in a god damn prison." Eric said.

"Correction. Wea' in a goddamn prison." Terrance answered.

"I'm sorry I got you into this." Eris replied, shaking his head.

"You didn't get us into this." Chiroptermon responded instantly. "We came here for the same reason you did. To find out just who the hell that guy was."

"He was Takato Matsuda."

"What?" Both terrance and Chiroptermon yelled at the same time.

"Come take a look at this." Eric said as he motioned them to come forward.

Terrance walked forward, his and his Digimon's eyes narrowed, until from behind the table another figure became visible. The slightly smiling, slightly snoring, red raptor could not be mistaken for anything else.

"Guilmon." Chiroptermon whispered.

"No way mate." Terrance added. "There's no way. That ain't the real deal."

"It is Terrance… I can smell him… But just how did he sleep through that scream?"

"He can sleep through anything." Eric answered Chiroptermon. "At least as far as I can tell."

"Who can?"

All three of them turned around and found the rest of their group sitting in the doorway, Parsley, Peamon and Vulpamon, all staring back at them.

"You'd best come 'hea right now an' take a look at this alright." Terrance almost demanded of them.

They did not protest. They slowly walked forward and each saw the sleeping creature with its head in Eric's lap. Each one slowly came to realize just what that creature was, and each one's expression changed from whatever it was to something of either awe or confusion.

"Is that… is that really him?" Parsley asked.

Eric nodded his head.

Parsley kneeled forward and put her hands down on Guilmon's neck, staring at the red, scaly skin as if it were solid gold.

"But if Guilmon is here," Peamon speculated. "That that could only mean that Sir Matsuda…"

"Is here as well." Vulpamon finished Peamon's sentence.

Eric nodded his head.

"So did you finally get to meet your hero Eric?" Vulpamon asked.

Eric nodded his head.

"And." Vulpamon asked.

"It's the old man." Eric answered.

"No!" Parsley shrieked and jumped up, startling everyone else and causing a slight stir and groan from Guilmon. "No! No! No! It can't be! Takato can't be that mean!"

"He is." Eric whispered.

Peamon walked over to Parsley and tried to wrap a wing around her. "Please try to calm yourself Parsley." She tried to reassure her tamer, but was pushed away.

Parsley instead ran to Terrance for comfort, clinging to his leg. Terrance stepped back and flailed his arms into the air in surprise.

"The old man." Vulpamon whispered.

"What happened to him?" Parsley asked.

"He didn't tell me." Eric answered, shaking his head. "He just gave this speech about how this cloak and dagger crap turned him into a monster or something."

Eric looked down at Guilmon, still sleeping through the discussion. He gave a slight scratch where his hand rested, eliciting a tiny whine from Guilmon's throat. He looked back up at his now cold plate of pancakes and sausage and realized he didn't want to eat. Eric groaned and pushed the plate forward. When he finally looked back up, everyone was seated at the table.

"So Takato Matsuda comes out after twenty two years and finds a bunch of homeless tamers and misfit Digimon to act as his poster boys?" Chiroptermon said, still from over Terrance's shoulder. "Is it just me or does that just make no damn sense?"

"Misfit Digimon?" Peamon lashed out, ruffling her feathers.

"Well think about it." Chiroptermon snapped back. "All the humans here are runaways. I was a rejected flying rat from a dirty shelter made out of a failed software company. You ran away with your tamer from a prestigious family, I bet you're not so prestigious anymore. And you Vulpamon are wanted dead thirty seven countries."

Vulpamon narrowed her eyes while Peamon ruffled her feathers. Terrance suddenly giggled under his breath. Everyone there looked at him.

"He's a genius alright, alright." Terrance sighed and shook his head. "Runaways and misfit Digimon. Who else is gonna be hop along with the plan and become poster-boys for a revolution. I'll tell ya who there mates, runaways and misfit Digimon, that's who."

"So what do we do about it?" Vulpamon asked.

"There are only two choices." Peamon answered. "Refuse Sir Matsuda's offer and-"

"Matsuda's offer?" Parsley nearly screamed. "More like Matsuda's blackmail."

"Refuse Sir Matsuda's offer," Peamon continued. "And be held here indefinitely, or accept and be allowed back into the outside world."

Terrance's face turned somber in a quite unusual display for him. "I can't eva' give up my camera. I just can't do it. I'm gonna' go for it."

"Me too!" Parsley stood up and shouted abruptly.

Peamon opened her beak to talk, a look in her eyes clearly stated that she questioned Parsley's reasoning. But she closed her beak again and did not speak, instead turning away from Parsley.

"What about you?" Vulpamon asked Eric.

"What about me?" Eric answered. "What about you?"

"You know how I feel about my personal freedom. And if you refuse you'd tear me between you and that."

"Gee, no pressure there." Eric grumbled.

The clock ticked as an unknown amount of time passed. Everyone in the room stared blankly at the table. No sounds were made except breathing and that same dripping as before. Everyone wanted to say something, something about their predicament, something about just what happened to their most recent great historical figure. But there was nothing to say, so time continued in silence.

Eric looked down as Guilmon's breathing became harder and faster. His fingertips reached out and his eyes twitched. Guilmon's eyes tried to open themselves several times before falling shut again. On the fourth try, they stayed open. Guilmon's tail lifted its tip and fell back down again before his head lifted up.

"Oh hi there Hajime." Guilmon just managed to mutter.

Eric looked up to see his apparently new companions were all aware of Guilmon's waking.

"What did I tell you," Eric said. "He never wakes up until he's ready."

Guilmon lifted his head up to now see he was no longer alone with Eric. Guilmon looked at them all with nothing but wonder in his face. He looked around at each of their faces and smiled.

"These are my friends Guilmon." Eric said.

"Hi Hajime's friends!" Guilmon spoke ecstatically and waved at them with both hands.

"What's with the Hajime thing?" Terrance asked.

"I couldn't get an answer to that what makes you think you can." Eric answered, and then turned back to Guilmon. "Uhh… That's Terrance, the big bat wrapped around him is Chiroptermon. That's Parsley and her Digimon Peamon, and this is my own Digimon, and very special friend and… other stuff, Vulpamon."

Guilmon gained a look of slight confusion and surprise when he eyed Vulpamon. He ignore everyone else and walked right up to her. Vulpamon was unused to such outgoingness. She took a step back.

"You really do look just like Renamon." Guilmon whispered. "And you smell just like her too. Renamon says that's because you're her successor."

"Successor?" Vulpamon whispered right back.

"I don't know what that means."

The two stared at each other for a while longer before…

"I figured I would find you with him Guilmon."

Takato stood in the doorway, leaning on the paneling with his arms folded. He looked as degenerate and bitter as ever.

Parsley clenched her teeth and her fists. She stood up and charge at Takato with her fists in the air, only to be caught and restrained by Terrance. Takato did not twitch in response.

"Oh, hi there Takato." Guilmon said rather solemnly.

Eric's eyes darted back and forth between Guilmon and Takato. He saw a rather interesting dynamic in how they looked at each other. From all the biographies Eric had read, both official and non, Guilmon and Takato were described as being inseperable, sharing a bond that could not be described with words. It was strange to see them now. Guilmon did not spear afraid or even apprehensive about suddenly seeing his tamer. But he certainly seemed disappointed.

"Go back to the domiciles Guilmon." Takato commanded.

Without saying a word, Guilmon stood up and sauntered away with his head ever so slightly down. Takato traced his movements with his eyes until he was out of sight, and then walked up to the table. He unfolded his arms and in one hand gripped a newspaper and a small stack of envelopes. He dropped them right in front of Eric.

"What are these?" Eric asked.

"Read them." Takato answered.

Eric looked down at the newspaper. It was in English, even though it Read Hong Kong times. The front page showed the title _Great Progressive March Abandoned by its Hero_. It was about an American boy named Eric McCaige who belittled the Japanese parliament by showing them his true love for his Digimon, and then single handedly organized a march for Digimon's rights with over one million people, only to abandon the march at the last minute.

"Is this supposed to make me feel guilty?" Eric.

"Read the letters." Takato said in a quite demanding tone.

Eric swept aside the paper and grabbed a letter at random. He opened it and read it to himself, not caring that everyone else was reading over his shoulder.

_Dear Mr. McCaige.  
I don't think words can ever express my gratitude to you, even though we've never met. But what you did gave me a kind of courage I never knew I was capable of.  
I've been tamer to a Loutremon for quite some time now. I realized almost six months ago that I loved him, but not in the way a tamer is supposed to love her Digimon. I am in love with Loutremon. I was too afraid of admitting it, afraid that I was a freak. What you did gave me the courage to act on my feelings.  
Tonight I'm going to tell my Loutremon exactly what I think of him, and I can only hope that it would go well from there.  
Thank you again for what is either amazing courage, or amazing lack of forethought. Either way, the results are the same.  
Sara Bordeaux,  
Seattle, USA._

Eric looked up from the letter. The others were still looking over his shoulder. A glance at them and they all backed off.

"I didn't know." Eric whispered.

"There are two follow ups to that letter." Takato replied. "I intercepted your mail after your stunt because I knew how much you'd get. We have several crates full so far, and most of them death threats. What you're holding in your hand are the top picks among them.

"So, are you going to lead the new march or what?"

"New march?" Peamon gasped. "What do you mean new march?"

"He wants us to lead a new march through the Shinjuku district of Tokyo." Eric answered.

"Well," Terrance added in. "Everyone hea's already decided to go, 'xcept Eric and his sheilamon."

"I'll do it." Eric whispered. "But let's get one thing straight. I'm not doing this for you, for your cause, or even for the people."

"Than for what?" Takato asked.

"Vulpamon. She's a wanderer by nature. There's nothing she hates more than being cooped up and controlled. That's why I'm doing it."

Eric looked over at Vulpamon. Her eyes were wide, her mouth hung open and her ears stuck straight up. It was a grand rare occasion when Eric was able to startle Vulpamon, and she was even more startled because of its rarity. Vulpamon's expression turned into a soft smile. She would never say it verbally in front of others, but Eric knew that smile meant 'thank you'.


	11. Episode six, part one

**Author Notes: **For some reason the line function is not working, so I have to make due seperateing scenes with extra spaces filled in by 0s.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000

Four great steel towers reached out from the ground, marking four corners of a square. Each tower in structure was almost like the Eiffel tower. They had no spires, and they appeared cut in half looking as if they would fall over any second. Steel and ceramic walls curving outward toward the center of the square held them aloft. These half-towers supported by their curved walls marked the corners of a pyramid make of what appeared to be pure, opaque red energy. Patterns of lighter oranges and darker reds swirled in the energy much like what could be seen in an oil slick swirling its colors into a thin pool of water. This was downtown Shinjuku, and the strange energy projected by the towers barred access to the Shinjuku gate from both the physical, and the digital sides.

Today was a very special day. Over a million people, human and Digimon scrunched together outside the Shinjuku gate, almost a third of them holding signs or banners of some sort. Those who could afford it had their banners animated. The fabric would fluoresce in so many colors scrolling messages in Japanese that most outsiders couldn't read, or animated pictures of little boys hugging their fluffy blue Penguinmon, or of the famous scene between Eric and Vulpamon in the courthouse of Sky city 2.

Surrounding them was another crowd staying almost exclusively to the sides against the other buildings. They too brought signs and banners. Some were of submissive Elecmon being restrained by a leash with the words above that could be translated as, "Digimon should know their place." Others showed artistic renditions of Vulpamon being hanged or the equally famous Eric McCage in a striped uniform rattling a tin mug on jail bars. Both sides exchanged plenty of spitting, swearing, gesturing, and thrown crumpled papers and empty cans.

Neither side was yet angry enough to make a real move against the other, mainly due to the barrier between them. Soldiers stood their guard between them. The deep blue, soft armor and masks marked in the corner with the insignia of the Japanese self-defense force held their long, slender railguns next to the hardened green plated armor and shorter but far heavier railguns of DRS troopers.

Those too far in the center to be particularly confronted by either the counter protest or the security measures talk to each other about whether or not the leader of the march will actually show up.

Any decent view of the dawn could only be seen from far above the building. That view was gifted on six individuals flying above the city. A white limousine streamlined like an arrowhead glided through the air at only a couple thousand feet, held aloft by six jet engines mounted on swivels. Inside the ride was surprisingly smooth.

Eric looked out a tinted window, paying no attention to the sunrise. He pulled at the knot of his tie as if it were choking him. He loathed every time he had to wear his navy suit, the only one he had. Only the old goggles on his head betrayed the formality of his dress.

Vulpamon leaned against Eric with her arms wrapped around his waist and her chin resting on top of his head. At least that's what she would've done had she been alone. There were four other people with her in this small space and her body was as tight as a wrench. She sat straight and stiff with her arms folded and her eyes closed next to Eric.

By now they had all gotten used to it though, and they ignored Vulpamon's obvious discomfort. Terrance was the only one among them who wasn't dressed formally, still in his khakis with frayed ends and shredded knees, Hawaiian shirt and red sweater tied around his waist. Chiroptermon, just as casually, dug his back claws into the head cushion of his seat and draped himself over the back cushion, his head raised back to look at a computer screen on the seat while he typed busily on it. Parsley and Peamon as usual sat on the opposite ends of the limo.

Terrance continued with a conversation that had already been going on for some time.

"What I'm sayin' is… I'm thinkin' a just disappearin' into the march and then runnin' away, away from this Takato bloke and away from this whole mess."

"And you were going to do this without my consent?" Chiroptermon spoke up.

"'Course not!" Terrance almost yelled in response. "You're me best buddy, me best mate, I was gonna ask you first."

"I just wanted to be sure, geese!"

"So you want to or not?"

"I guess… I really don't know yet." Chiroptermon sighed. "We might be prisoners there at wherever it was, but this Takato may be our only chance of actually getting our footage on the news. Who knows, maybe he could even get us a documentary."

"That's true."

Eric huffed. "And if you id run away, what the hell makes you think he couldn't find you again?"

Chiroptermon stopped typing for a moment and he and Terrance looked each other in the eyes before looking back to Eric.

"There be somethin' you're not tellin' us alright." Terrance said.

Eric grit his teeth and slammed his fist in the window. Parsley and Peamon both jumped slightly turning their attention toward him. Vulpamon didn't flinch at the gesture.

"Takato knows who my parents are dammit!" Eric shouted. "And just who the hell is he to say I'm not ready to know?"

"That's certainly a surprise."

Eric was momentarily confused by the words. He turned to Vulpamon, who up until this moment had been silent. She still sat in the same position, but briefly opened her eyes and glanced at him to finish her thought.

"That you would say such a thing about your lifelong hero."

"I don't know what to call him anymore." Eric sighed. "First he sends us after that psycho Digimon, almost killing us in the process, then he keeps us captive in an underground warehouse and we don't even know where it is and-"

"Look on the bright side." Chiroptermon interrupted. "We've got four star suites and free room service."

"And he thinks that makes the whole thing tolerable?" Eric continued. "But still, he knows who my parents, and I'm not going to play escapee until I get it out of him."

"Pardon me sir McCage." Peamon spoke, bowing slightly. "This may sound rude of me, and if so I apologize in advance, but on what basis do you deduce that a pet name might imply knowledge of your parentage?"

"It's not just him." Eric answered. "It's Guilmon too. They both call me Hajime. That and, when I asked Guilmon why he calls me that, he almost said because it's my name."

"Almost?" Chiroptermon asked.

"Well Takato, uhh, stopped him."

A short silence came between everyone in the limo. It was a tad uncomfortable for all of them. One of them decided to end it.

"What about two?" Chiroptermon asked, motioning his head toward Parsley and then toward Peamon. "Are you sticking around with Takato or taking off?"

Peamon sighed and closed her eyes. She knew what response she would get from what she was about to say, but she needed to say it anyway.

"If I may suggest Parsley, you should stay with Takato, at least for the time being. I mean this in all respect, but simply for your own safety."

"Peamon does not tell me what to do." Parsley snapped back in a droll voice.

Peamon nodded, knowing exactly that's what she was going to get for all her troubles.

"I don't know." Parsley continued, shaking her head. "I don't know, I… I haven't decided if I'm running or not."

Chiroptermon and Peamon eyed each other suspiciously. They both knew what Parsley really meant, and that she didn't want them to know what she really meant. She hadn't decided because Terrance and Chiroptermon hadn't decided yet, and she was simply going to follow them.

Eric sensed this as well, though not on quite as cognitive a level, but enough to know that it would be best to change the subject. He looked out the window and down over the streets. The streets themselves were blocked off and mostly empty of people, but the sidewalks were crammed with protesters. Though from as high up as he was they all looked like little more than wriggling fuzz, he knew they were against the purpose of the march because the streets were empty and yet they were packed onto the sidewalk waiting for a march to come by. Lining the outsides of the sidewalk he saw lines of alternating gray and green dots. Not much detail could be made out from so high in the air, but Eric could tell enough to know what they were. His eyes narrowed as he brought his face closer to the window.

"DRS troopers." Eric whispered.

"What about em'?" Terrance asked.

"They're lining the streets."

"Of all the cockamamie!" Terrance yelled suddenly threw himself out the window. Chiroptermon soon followed, as did Parsley and Peamon. Even Vulpamon was startled enough to unfold her arms and turn her head toward the others. They all saw it, the little green dots lining the sides of the streets alongside the gray ones. All of them saw just enough detail to make the same conclusions.

"Why the bloody hell'd Tokyo hire them as security anyway?" Terrance spoke loudly. "They'd be more apt to shoot troublemakers than arrest em'."

"I don't think Tokyo did hire them." Eric answered. "I think they showed up on their own."

"But… Why would they let them do that?" Parsley almost cried.

"You don't understand Parsley." Eric answered. "You don't understand what they are. They don't take orders, they don't answer to anyone. They've been given international police powers and yet they don't answer to anyone."

"But why would someone do that?" Parsley asked.

"Because the DRS can get away with all the things the everyone else in the UN can't." Chiroptermon answered. "Almost half the countries in the UN let them march right through their borders and do whatever the hell they want as long as it involves Digimon. The countries that don't allow this are tariffed."

"Tariffed?" Parsley asked.

"It means all their imports and exports are forcibly taxed."

They all watched for a few minutes longer until in the brief distance they could see the half-towers projecting their energy pyramid in the heart of downtown Shinjuku. The crowd gathered around the pyramid seemed solid and spread over a radius of many city blocks. Many looked up toward the limo and some pointed at it.

"We're almost at the Shinjuku Gate." Chiroptermon whispered. "There's gotta be a few million people down there."

"Hey Parsley," Eric asked. "Do you know the story of the Shinjuku Gate?"

Parsley shook her head.

"Well you do know what a gate is don't you?"

"Yeah," Parsley answered. "It's a pace where you can go into the Digital world."

"Except the Digimon have barred access for humans," Chiroptermon added. "And for good reason."

"Anyway," Eric continued. "There used to only be microgates, where only one human or Digimon at a time could fit through. But once first tamers beat the D-Reaper forty four years ago, all the microgates were sealed. Now no one knows why, but one year later, microgates started opening up all over the world, and Digimon began appearing everywhere. Then the first major gate opened in Shinjuku, the same place where it all began."

"But now they've got it under a firewall so no Digimon can get in or out." Chiroptermon finished.

"Wow." Parsley whispered. "No wonder Takato wanted us to march here."

"It's a very special place."

"Pardon my interruption," Peamon spoke, lightly bowing her head. "But we are beginning to descend."

0000000000000000000000000000000000000

The dawn played host to scores of human and Digimon, an extraordinary few of whom had were sure in their own minds about whether or not their newfound icons would actually show up. The air was filled with bits and rolls of colored tissue. Columns of balloons were tied to every rail and pole. Within the crown the sound of cheers blocked out everything else so conversations were impossible. The excitement filled the air so think that both the Digimon supporters on the inside and their detractors on the outside all but ignored the presence of the armed soldiers between them.

In the center of the mass, an elevated platform rose up from the street and provided a landing pad for the approaching Limo to land on. Those who could reach it tried to climb onto the pad, most of them falling off into the crowd below. The only ones allowed to walk on the steps leading from the pad down to the street were the press.

A great uproar erupted through the mass as the white limo hovered still above the platform and them slowly descended until it made its landing. A hush went about as the engines wound to a halt. Then the doors opened and Eric McCage in his nice suit stepped out holding the hand of Vulpamon. The crowd roared up again once they stood up and waved to the crowd, and again as they locked lips for the cameras. The others, Terrance and Chiroptermon, camera and laptop in hands, and Peamon and Parsley, went relatively ignored as they too exited the limo and walked alongside the stars of the march.

Descending the staircase the press were immediately upon Eric and Vulpamon. A microphone was shoved into Vulpamon's hand as she gave a quick snarl in surprise.

"Please give us an inspirational speech for the occasion." Pleaded among a few English speaking members. Vulpamon shoved the microphone back at them, which was then shoved into the hands of Eric.

"Would you please give us an inspiration speech then." They begged.

"I'm not very good at speeches." Eric spoke into the microphone, his voice boomed over the streets. "And I don't like giving them, so let's just get on the march."

The crown went into a final uproar as the six of them walked down the staircase into the street below.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000

The dawn went unseen in another place in Shinjuku, on the outskirts. A trashy old warehouse among many others that had long since been abandoned to an expanding slum and boarded up. The air was rife with dust from decades of uselessness and the rotting of concrete and steel. So far away it was from what was happening downtown that the noise couldn't even be heard. All that could be heard here was the dripping of old pipes and the creaking and cracking of the floor as one walked on it. One might expect the only human resident of this place to be a schizophrenic bum or a runaway.

A sharp whack and then a bright clear light shown out of the bulbous tip of what looked from a distance to be a glass rod. The arm holding it belonged to the last person one might expect to set up camp in a place as desolate as this. The cheap polymer suit dyed glittery silver was a straight giveaway. But if that wasn't enough the hair slicked straight back certainly was. It was the lower house member Keitaro Kondo.

"_Come out here dammit!_" Kondo yelled in Japanese.

Three small wheels rolled a tripod with a hand compy mounted on the top into the view of the lower houseman.

"_You don't need you shout Kondo San, I never arrive late._" A voce came out of the compy. It was altered by the computer to give a clean distortion, and was using far more respectful syntax than Kondo was.

"_Why the hell couldn't you've just contacted me in my office?" Kondo whipped back._"

"_Must I really answer that question?_"

Kondo snorted and grunted and shook his head at the question. He folded his arms and looked away from the wheeled compy.

"_What the hell has this country come to?_" Kondo huffed. "_Three million cheer for that kid and his skank and the few people with any sense aren't even allowed to so much as get near him enough to tell him off. All of Japan is now collaborating with the enemy."_

Kondo unfolded his arms and glared angrily at the compy, though it would do him no good as there was no visual interface, but he did so anyway.

"_So how are we going to do this?_"

As soon as Kondo has asked, lights turned on in the warehouse floor. Several of them shattered on turning on, but the remaining gave enough illumination to reveal a shipping crate behind the wheeled compy.

Kondo took a few steps back.

"_What's that?_" He asked.

"_Open it._" the compy replied.

Kondo hesitated several times, but finally took a step forward. The door to the crate stood unlocked in front of him. The crate itself appeared brand new, every bit coated in matt bluish gray paint. Kondo took a few steps forward and then reeled back.

"_What the hell is that stink?_" Kondo barked. "_It's like burning oil._"

"_Open the door Kando-San._"

Kondo reached into his breast-pocket and pulled out a plain white handkerchief. He held it to his nose as he walked forward again toward the container. As his hand touched the handle he instantly pulled it back. It was hot. He touched it again. The handle was hot, but not so much that a few seconds of contact would cause a burn. He grabbed the handle and twisted it. The entire container rattled and he let go.

"_Open the door Kando-San._"

As the rattling settled down, Kondo grabbed the handle once again and pulled. The door flung open and Kondo's eyed burned as a sudden wave of fumes flew into his face.

Kondo fell over and crawled backward, the compy rolling out of his way. He hacked and coughed as he desperately tried to get away from those fumes. Even though his handkerchief he could smell hot tar, smoke, and ammonia. It burned his nostrils and his sinuses. It burned on his tongue and throat and tasted terribly bitter. Away from the fumes Kondo's tears and running sinuses bean to wash away the fumes and he started to feel better.

That's when he noticed it, screeching. There was screeching like metal being pulled apart. It was painful to almost no end. Kondo covered his ears with hands until the screeching died down.

"_Look._" The voice commanded.

As his eyes felt good enough, he opened them to see what was inside the container.

There were metal crates stacked along the back end of the container, bolted into the back wall. From behind the bars of each crate stared two seemingly glowing yellow, bloodshot eyes right at Keitaro Kondo. There were nine pairs in all.

He squinted and blinked and his sight became a little less blurry. Inside these crates were Digimon, Huge frogs with long tails and large sharp fins sticking out of their backs. They were Betamon, or at least what looked like Betamon. Betamon had reflective green bodies with red fins and clear white eyes. These looked nothing like what Betamon should. Their skin was brown, swirly, warty mass of scar tissue oozing out black liquid from pores large enough to plug with a pencil. The skin on their fins had long since disintegrated, leaving only sharp bones protruding from their backs. The Betamon made guttural shrieking noises that would make even the sturdiest of ears wince in pain. They were not natural. They clawed at the bars to their cages in vain efforts to free themselves and pursue their target, the lone human in their sights.

The stench wafted back into Kondo's nose and he shoved his handkerchief back into his face.

"_What are they?_" Kondo growled.

"_A pet project of mine that I've been working on for the past few years._" The voice answered. "_It's still in its experimental stages but even now it achieves more than impressive results. These were once Betamon who lived in a shelter just outside Kyoto. You may call them VileBetamon._"

"_Is this the Digimon madness?_"

"_Would it be anything else?_"

"_It's brilliant. HACK!_" Kondo went into a coughing fit as he took the handkerchief away from his nose, and then put it right back.

"_In a few hours men will be here to ship the container to a another warehouse just outside the zone of the march. I may be powerful Kondo-San, but I have no official political title. That's why I need you to accompany them. In such a delicate moment, any kind of shipment is bound to be searched. You must be there to order whatever security you come by not to search the container. Once at the warehouse, they'll simply open the container, and let the VileBetamon do what they do._"

"_And what's in it for me?_" Kondo demanded.

"_Besides ruining the any chances for another march in Japan? How about this._ _Do you wish to remain a lowly lower house member the rest of your life Kondo-San? How does the title, Minister of Justice sound to you? Continue aiding me and I can see to that the title will be yours._"

Kondo blinked and stood motionless in confusion several seconds. He then grinned beneath his handkerchief.

Neither party was aware however that their entire meeting was under surveillance. Two rusted pipes crossed each other's paths and turned off at ninety degree angles to each other. Their crossing was wedged into the corner of an x-shaped concrete pillar. Backed into the corner of this column and hiding behind the pipes, two bright green eyes peered out over the secret meeting. In the darkness one could barely make out the impression of two fluttering pink wings.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000

"So is there anything else you'd like to add?" Terrance asked.

He walked ahead of Eric and Vulpamon just far enough to get them both in the picture down to their waists while Chiroptermon looked on intently from behind Terrance's shoulders. The march unfolded uneventfully through the day. There were relatively few arrests and the stars leading the march were hassled relatively little by fans and haters alike, with the exception of autograph seekers. Even the DRS troopers seemed a bit at ease at the end of the day. Vulpamon and Eric walked down the streets in front of the parade holding hands, never really concerned about where they were going, as the march itself seemed to know the route by heart.

The whole time they walked, Terrance and Chiroptermon had exclusive access to Eric and Vulpamon, much to the dismay of the surrounding press, who couldn't even get a comment out of them.

Eric sighed and answered the question. "Yeah, I'd like to add that I'm glad I don't have to walk any longer."

With that statement, Eric took only a few more steps and sat down on a bench in front of a small fountain.

Terrance looked up. They were already back at the Shinjuku gate. It had been five hours and they had circled the entire downtown district. Past Eric and Vulpamon now leaning against each other, Eric shoeless, and over the statues of dogs spitting water into the fountain behind them, a few hundred feet was the edge of the great firewall that blocked access to the Digital world. Everyone, human and Digimon alike seemed to be settling down for a nap right on the pavement or getting ready to go back home. Terrance pulled the trigger on his camera one more time and it shut off before he too sought somewhere to rest.

Vulpamon's exhaustion at last overcame her public anxiety and they could both be seen on their bench leaning against each other trying to reach some point between sleep and consciousness. Pictures and scrap books and Compys and D-Arcs and articles of clothing passed through their hands as they scrawled half assed signatures onto these items, not really even knowing where they were getting them, or how they came to have pens to begin with. Their hands worked independently of their thoughts by now, and they were scarcely aware of what it was they were doing as they mumbled to each other.

"I think you should do speeches from now on." Vulpamon garbled.

"You know I'm no good at them," Eric answered "And besides… …"

"What?"

Vulpamon opened her eyes and glanced over at Eric. His gaze was fixed at something in the distance, and his hands had gone still.

Eric saw something in the glare of the sun. It was a silhouette standing on top of a somewhat distant commercial building. It was a tall, winged, humanoid figure with slender legs and disproportionately long arms. Its hands were on its hips and it seemed to look down on the crowd, and onto him in particular. Even at this distance, even in this glare, Eric knew that shape.

"Beelzemon?" He whispered to himself.

"What?" Vulpamon asked.

Eric glanced at Vulpamon for a second and looked back up at the building. The figure was gone.

"I thought I saw something."

At that instant Vulpamon's nose began to twitch. In a blink she came out of her drowsed state and sat up straight with her eyes wide and her nose in the air sniffing.

"What is it?" Eric asked.

"You thought you saw something, but I know I smell something." Vulpamon answered. "It's… It's hot tar, ash, sulfur, and ammonia."

"You don't mean?"

"It smells exactly like BloodGazimon."

Eric was now brought out of his drowsed state just as fast as Vulpamon had been. He was sitting straight up and his eyes were darting every which way. His heart stopped momentarily and immediately went into overdrive once it started again. His mouth dried and his muscles tightened involuntarily. He couldn't see or smell anything suspicious, and the crown seemed to be unaware. But He knew Vulpamon's nose was never wrong. Somewhere out there was a Digimon in the final stages of madness, and it probably had its senses trained on the crowd right now.

"This wasn't an accident." Vulpamon said softly. "Someone set this up, right in the middle of a grand protest, someone wanted this."

Eric closed his eyes tight. He couldn't imagine who might be responsible for what was about to happen, but he knew of someone else who was counting on it.

"Takato," Eric whispered. "You knew this was going to happen."


	12. Episode six, part two

**Author Notes:** The horizontal rule is working again! YAAAAY!  
Aside from that, the reason I haven't updated in so long is that I've been learning to drive, and that I've had to help my family cook, peel, and can 200+ lbs. of tomatoes, and fifty lbs. of peppers. That kind of took all of my time. From now until something else comes up, I'll try to update at least every other week. It's not a promise, but I'll try.

**Story Notes:** I realize now that Parsley and Peamon have had far fewer lines, and far less characterization than the rest of the characters. Because of that, I'm going to make the entire next episode entirely about them, something that's also foreshadowed at the end of this episode.

* * *

Masses of humans and Digimon crowded around what was once Shinjuku Park, but was now covered in brick and cement. They crowded around the giant pyramid with sides of swirling energy, the firewall over Shinjuku gate, meant to keep anything, organic or digital, from going into or out of the Digital World.

Clouds were beginning to gather and the sky was starting to turn orange from the sunset. Of everyone gathered at the firewall, few had anything on their minds at the moment other than rest. None of them knew what was truly waiting for them just outside of sight. Even the Digimon with sensitive enough noses could smell something awful in the distance, but having no past experience with its source, thought nothing of it. But it was creeping so colder every moment. As the autograph seekers began to loose interest, the activists began to become more concerned with sleep than with their protests, and the plethora of Japanese Defense Force agents and DRS troopers began to feel more relaxed, it came creeping ever closer to them all.

Only two souls within the fray had any clue as to what was really about to happen.

Eric and Vulpamon now sat up straight on their bench and stared into each other's eyes with worry. Their last encounter with that smell less than a week ago was still fresh in their minds. And last time they had a semblance of advantage. It was six of them versus a single opponent, with no bystanders. If they barely managed to survive the last time given those circumstances… what about this time?

Eric and Vulpamon continued to stare into each others eyes, each waiting for the other to make the first comment, each knowing the other was waiting for them to make the first comment, and so on. How long this really went on was probably far shorter than it seemed.

Eric took a deep breath and finally spoke.

"We need to find some way of warning them all."

"No." Vulpamon instantly retorted. "It would only cause a riot, and that would be the worst thing that could happen."

"There's going to be a riot anyway once they figure out what's going on."

"True," Vulpamon replied. "but it will be later rather than sooner, which gives us time to find the others, and get indoors before it starts."

"So where are they?"

"Terrance and Chiroptermon are just on the other side of the fountain. I don't know where Parsley and Peamon are."

In just these brief moments, Eric had changed. His chest was pulled tight, his arms clenched and his hands were sopped in sweat, and his heart raced so fast it burned. He glanced over at Vulpamon. She was still as a rock, but looking closer you could see she wasn't doing any better. Her ears were flattened against the sides of her head, her teeth clamped shut, her pupils narrowed into points, and the fur on her neck and back stood on end. Eric was greatly surprised that Vulpamon of all people would go through this kind of tension. But it became less surprising the more he thought about it. What happened with BloodGazimon would put even the most hardened of individuals on edge should they suspect it would happen again.

Eric and Vulpamon stood up from the bench. They both tried to put on a mask of collectedness, and were just successful enough to avoid suspicion from the casual glance.

On the other side of the fountain, on another bench two others very familiar each had no idea what was coming to them all. Terrance sat slumped back against the left end of the bench half asleep while Chiroptermon lay back across the right side with his feet resting in Terrance's lap. Chiroptermon had Terrance's laptop opened up across his stomach while he busily typed away at the keyboard. Images of the video they shot throughout the march whizzed by the screen along with control panels indicating the video files being edited and spliced together in any number of ways.

"How long'll it be 'till your done alright?" Terrance mumbled to Chiroptermon.

Chiroptermon kept typing, biting at the side of his tongue in eagerness. It took a few seconds before he registered the question, and would only answer half assedly due to how busy he was.

"Yeah, pretty much." Chiroptermon mumbled back, despite the fact that he wasn't anywhere near finished.

"Great." Terrance mumbled in turn, not really caring or even is aware either way.

A hand placed itself rather forcefully on Terrance's shoulder, while a large nail poked Chiroptermon in his. Both jerked and jumped up to see what just happened, Chiroptermon almost dropping the laptop in the process.

They looked up the see the others in front of them, Eric in front of Terrance, Vulpamon in front of Chiroptermon. The standing stared right into the eyes of the sitting in an unnerving, almost ghastly way. They stared right back in confusion.

"We need to get indoors." Vulpamon said.

"How so?" Terrance answered.

"They're here!" Eric whispered panicked, grabbing his hair.

"Who?" Chiroptermon asked.

Vulpamon closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Digimon… Digimon who have been infected."

"Mad Digimon?" Chiroptermon asked.

Eric and Vulpamon each shook their head.

"How do you know?"

"I could smell them." Vulpamon whispered.

Chiroptermon sat up pointed his nose up into the air. He closed his eyes and sniffed several times before cringing at the tip of his nose.

"Oh my god." Chiroptermon whispered. "You're right."

"What?" Terrance shrieked. "Where!"

"Shut up!" Eric whispered even more panicked and covered Terrance's mouth with his hands. Terrance immediately pushed Eric's hands away and glared at him.

The display was enough to get the attention of several others in the immediate vicinity. Eric and Vulpamon tightened up their bodies. The others stopped whatever they were doing, stared for a few seconds, and then went back on their business. Eric and Vulpamon relaxed.

"They're still far away." Vulpamon said.

Eric finished her sentence. "We might just have time to find Parsley and Peamon and get inside, but not if you tip everyone else off and cause a riot."

Terrance was still a bit woozy from just having been disturbed from half sleep. He didn't fully understand what was being said. He sat there for a little longer looking dumbfounded at Eric and Vulpamon. The words sunk into his head, but in his current state he didn't quite realize that it meant they were all in imminent danger. Until…

"We have to go Terrance."

Terrance blinked twice and looked to his side. Chiroptermon looked into his eyes from only inches away. Chiroptermon's eyes were wide and his pupils had narrowed into slits. Terrance still couldn't quite connect Chiroptermon's aghast expression reached through Terrance's eyes and told him that if they don't do something quick, they would all soon be dead.

Terrance looked straight up into the sky, almost into the sun. His body reacted straight away to narrow his pupils, speed up his heart and speed up his breath. Fully awake now, the true scope of the situation finally dawned on him.

"Awww, bloody friggin' hell." He whispered.

"Let's go!" Eric demanded, shaking his head toward a nearby cluster of small apartment and office buildings.

In a few seconds, Terrance and Chiroptermon had their camera and computer equipment packed and slung over Terrance's shoulder, and Chiroptermon adhered to his back with his head over Terrance's other shoulder.

"Don't do anything that could inform them." Vulpamon whispered.

They all walked, though quite energetically, through the crowd toward a plain, square, six-story sky blue office building nestled between two older, gray apartment complexes of equal size. Heads turned in curiosity and confusion toward them as they walked so quickly across the mass of concrete. Their own heads turned about, scanning the crowd for any sign of the two others they knew.

"Where are they?" Chiroptermon asked.

They all jumped and turned to the south as a choking scream echoed through the square. More screams followed, and those in the distance began to run frightfully and aimlessly.

"To late!" Eric shrieked as he pointed toward the encroaching turmoil.

"We gotta' find 'em!" Terrance shrieked back.

"Will we have time?" Vulpamon added.

"I don't wanna' let 'em die!"

"If we don't take shelter now we might all die." Vulpamon continued.

"Eric!" Terrance yelled. "Please tell me you're on my side."

Those in front of the panicked began to panic, and those in front of them began to panic. A wall of violence seemed to be building behind them, growing closer in layers. The Japanese Defense Force hesitated in the midst and backed off, while the DRS instantly went on the offensive. In the distance they could be seen throwing themselves into the fray, spraying binder foam on anyone who seemed a bit too out of hand, and firing live rounds at whatever Digimon would not submit to arrest, but that only seemed to further aggravate the situation, and the approaching chaos picked up its pace.

"I… I…" Eric could scarcely get out a second word as he saw what was fast coming his way. "I don't know."

"Too late for that now!" Chiroptermon screamed, and pointed right in front of them.

Bodies flung toward them in a desperate effort to get out of the way of other bodies flinging toward them respectively. Ears were deafened by the sounds of screaming humans and Digimon, the clamping of feet and the fire of railguns in the distance, which was what most were running from. Few still knew what was really the cause of the disorder and confusion. Eric, Vulpamon, Terrance, and Chiroptermon trying his best to keep from getting pulled off Terrance's back were hit and shoved out of the way more times in a second than any of them could register.

Terrance released the grip on his duffel bag to shield his face. A fleeing Agumon was swept up in the waves of taller humans and thrown into Terrance. Blinded by the rush, the Agumon tried to claw its way through whatever was blocking it. Terrance thrust his duffel bag into the Agumon, who ripped a hole in the side before falling back to the ground to continue running with the rest of them. Terrance's camera spilled onto the ground.

"My camera!" Terrance yelled.

"Forget it!" Eric yelled back. "We have to get inside!"

Eric's two arms wrapped around Terrance's left while Vulpamon's wrapped themselves around his right. Terrance was dragged perpendicular to the riot, trying to run back to his camera being kicked about by so many feet. It was then trampled and crushed into pieces.

"Noooo!" Terrance screamed.

But that allowed him to change his focus. Terrance tried to turn around and was finally released. He threw his head down and wrapped it with in his arms as he pushed his way through the onslaught of people running right into him or trying to push him out of the way. Chiroptermon buried his head n Terrance's back. He held onto Terrance's shoulders and waist so hard that his claws drew blood.

They reached the edge of the office building and pressed themselves up against its concrete walls. Each of them was covered in scrapes, dirt, and small bruises. But the adrenaline stymied all awareness of their injuries. From the edge of the building, they could see what became of their march. Everyone ran in random directions, most of them not even knowing why, but still scared for their lives. The DRS had encased hundreds in pink binder foam. The smaller Digimon who cooperated with their arrests were bound and gagged with Carbon Nanotube rope and hauled on the backs of the DRS troopers. The larger were simply tied up and left to whatever the mob would do to them. Those that did not cooperate were fired on. The Digimon fought back. Between those who ran were the brawls between the DRS and the insubordinate Digimon.

Pops of Rail Gun fire clattered through the air, as did the light show of the Digimons' attacks against the DRS. Every so often, one could see a green suit of shock armor fall limp to the ground either burnt or broken. Every so often, one could see the explosion of multicolor specs of light that trailed into the air signifying the death of a Digimon.

A riot of anger had focus. It traveled in one direction and had a semblance of purpose, given that it had targets to attack specifically, whereas other targets were relatively ignored. But this was a riot of fear. It had no order, no purpose, and no sense of what to do. It was chaos incarnate, utter randomness.

Then, the cause of it all came.

Three forms leaped into the air. They were black, decrepit things looking like scarred, oily toads. The all the familiar stench of tar, ash, and ammonia rained down on everyone as they figures dripped their oil onto the croup. Those touched by it fell to the ground screaming as it burned their flesh, then to be kicked by others as they ran past.

The figures fell from the air into the crowd. They were Betamon, the froglike reptilians with the large fins protruding from their backs. At least that's what they were. What they were now resembled less their original forms than even BloodGazimon did.

One fell straight onto a monkeylike Koemon, tackling to the ground and rolling along through the rush. The VileBetamon bit down with black teeth onto the back of Koemon's head. The Koemon screamed in pain as it tried to claw its way forward across the concrete. In a few seconds, the Koemon shattered into its code, which the VileBetamon promptly sucked into itself through its nostrils. It then looked up surveying the scene for its next victim.

Another VileBetamon landed right on top of the head of a DRS trooper spraying whoever he could with binder foam. The trooper dropped his cannon and flailed about trying to pry the VileBetamon off his helmet. It was no use. The VileBetamon squeezed at the helmet, burning the power coat right off the ceramic and beginning to crack the helmet within. The trooper was lost amid the sights of the riot, and none of them could see what happened to it next.

The third VileBetamon landed just outside the crowd, right in front of Eric, Vulpamon Terrance, and Chiroptermon. They all pressed themselves further back against the wall. The VileBetamon cried out with the sound of rusty metal scraping against rusty metal.

"I'll distract it, you three get inside!" Vulpamon shouted.

"No!" Chiroptermon shouted back. "We'll distract it!"

Chiroptermon leapt off of Terrance's back and flew at the VileBetamon from above as Vulpamon lunged toward it head on.

SONIC MINE

Chiroptermon threw a screeching ball of light distortion at VileBetamon. It impacted directly into its face, exploding into a thundercrack and sending the VileBetamon rolling back into the street. Rioters dashed out of the way of the mad Digimon, which immediately got back up and shook itself back into focus.

RAZOR HAND

Vulpamon flattened her hands and bound toward the VileBetamon ready to slash at it. The VileBetamon jumped into the air, avoiding the hands that cut through the concrete. It propelled itself off Vulpamon's head, forcing her to fall to the ground and leaving behind its oils that seared her fur.

Eric stood behind Terrance with his arms wrapped around the insides of Terrance's shoulders restraining him from running straight toward the fight. Eric dragged Terrance toward the glass doors of the office building as he pulled and screamed the entire way.

"Lemme' go you son-of-a-bitch!" Terrance screamed. "I won't leave Chiroptermon!"

"Chiroptermon told you to leave!" Eric screamed back. "Do what he says!"

At that moment Chiroptermon fell from the sky, hitting the ground face first. He lay on his stomach trying to claw his way toward as the VileBetamon dug its claws deeper into Chiroptermon's back, squealing with delight as they burned his flesh and made him howl in pain.

"NOOOO!" Terrance wailed and fought Eric with even more energy.

The pop of a railgun sounded from only meters away. VileBetamon was thrown from Chiroptermon and rolled down the street a great Distance. A DRS trooper ran by them, continuing to fire at the VileBetamon and relatively ignoring them.

Eric released Terrance and yelled.

"Grab him lets go!"

Terrance dashed forward and picked up Chiroptermon. Holding his Digimon to his chest, Terrance dashed right back just in time to see Vulpamon's foot land squarely on the glass doors of the office building, shattering them. They all ran inside and down the blue-carpeted hallway, not bothering others who were all hiding anyway.

"All you freeze!" Shouted another DRS trooper following them into the office building.

None of them heard his commands.

A fork in the hallway led to another hallway to the left, and stairs to the right. They all ran up the stairs without having to think about it. They ran up to the second floor. The stairs took them straight to another hall lined on one side with windows looking out into the streets below.

They each stood in a row along the row of windows. Vulpamon stiffly stood straight up and down, her body clenched tight as Eric tried to press himself as hard as he could into her side with his arms wrapped around her waist. Terrance stood stiff holding Chiroptermon in his arms. They all looked out over what was happening below, all of them in shock and disarray at what they saw, the same as what they'd just been in the middle of.

The sounds seemed like they were coming from a great distance now, but the sights were still right there in front of them. The riot was no longer a mass, but the chaos was still there. People and Digimon ran about with no idea as to where they were or where they were going, knowing only that if they held still, something horrible would most likely happen to them. Most of the tamers and their Digimon had long since separated in the confusion. The DRS troopers tried their best to barricade the scene and keep order the best way they knew how, through indiscriminate arrests and violence. The Japanese Defense Force had long since retreated leaving the DRS alone to maintain order in their own twisted ways. And the VileBetamon kept running about, over ten of them in all, leaping on top of human and Digimon alike and digging in their claws, only then to be shot with railgun fire as it was the only moments they were holding still. After being knocked to the ground and receiving over a dozen shells straight to the head or chest, the VileBetamon would finally explode into their blacking purple code. The small metal donuts, the particle accelerators, were thrown carelessly about, sucking up all code fragments, dark and rainbow alike, and reducing them to black sand.

Eric, Vulpamon, Terrance, and Chiroptermon kept staring out the window into the fray below, some of them totally stiff, some shaking their heads, some shivering, not one of them truly believing what they were seeing.

"Freeze!" A voice yelled out. "All of you now!"

They all turned around finding a single DRS trooper in his green shock armor with his own railgun poised at them all, its tip glowing ever so slightly indicating recent prolonged use.

"You're the cause of all this!" The trooper yelled again. "You're all under arrest!  
"… what the hell?"

Terrance looked back over his shoulder at what the trooper was staring at. A figure in the distance was flying forward… flying toward the window. It was a humanoid figure with… wings?

"Duck!" Terrance screamed.

They did not hesitate to heed his advice. They crouched down as the window shattered sending bits of glass raining down on them. All they saw from below was a blur of black leather, black feathers, and cast iron. It landed on its feet and the DRS trooper immediately unleashed a barrage railgun shells straight into its chest. It fell down to its knees, but stood right back up again, shrugging them off. The trooper tried to fire again, but had run out of ammo, and received only a buzzing sound from the rails for his efforts.

Quicker than could be seen, a leather clad hand with steel fingertip claws reached out and grabbed the trooper by the top of the head. A twist and the trooper's neck snapped in three places.

The figure turned around and finally the others saw what it was.

It was indeed humanoid, and winged with black feathers. It was almost eight feet tall and wrapped in skintight leather sown from patches. Its face was hidden behind a cast iron mask, and long tail wrapped in steel plates drooped behind it.

"Beelzemon?" Eric whispered.

The raspy, spiteful voice with the heavy accent rang out in their ears.

"I gotta' skyvan parked on the roof. Follow me and you might just survive this."

"Yah killed 'im!" Terrance shrieked.

Beelzemon ran up the second set of stars yelling back.

"Wouldn't be the first time now move it god damn it!"

* * *

The sun set some time ago. The east sky was bright red while the west sky was dark. Four faces looked over the edge of a rooftop toward nothing below except ruin. Not much remained of the original chaos. A few people throwing rocks or bricks at the remaining DRS troopers, and being sprayed with a pink gum immediately expanding into putty like foam totally encasing them. The Digimon who hadn't run away or fought were now tied up in rows with nanotube rope along the sidewalks littered with broken windows and damaged cars.

Eric's jaw quivered at this sight. His eyes teared and reddened. The party that set him up all this time had now set him up again, this time to take place in a march for Digimon's rights which resulted in death and millions of dollars in property damage, and will most likely result in Japan signing that damn treaty to have all Digimon within its borders tagged with tracking and restraining devices.

Vulpamon stared out with narrowed eyes with dots for pupils. Her teeth clenched together and her nails dug into her paws. It was bad enough that her life was now being controlled. Worse still was that she was being put to use for the sole benefit of a single pitiless wretch, at the expense of everyone else. Though she never showed it, her fury was for a moment directed at Eric, that he was the one who dragged her into all this, but she knew it was also her own fault.

Terrance still held Chiroptermon in his arms, burning claw holes still imbedded in his chest. A human with the same wounds would be dead twice over. Chiroptermon would heal in two days. But only a few more seconds and he too would've been reduced to data and sucked inside of the VileBetamon, only then to be wiped out by the blasts of railguns and erased by the magnetism of a particle accelerator. Up to this point their lives had been devoted to exposing the cruelties done to Digimon, and now they had just been an accessory to an event that may make those cruelties appear justified. The shock was still to great for either of them to feel anything about it. But what they would feel once it would be over would be unpleasant, to use an understatement.

Each in turn, turned away from the sight they beheld and walked over to a large black van parked on the roof, into the vertical sliding door of a black ovoid dome, just behind the black circular dome of the cab. Beelzemon leaned against the side of the van, his arms crossed and a tedious expression on his face, as if he'd been through many similar things in the past. He got inside after the others and slammed the door shut.

All of them seated inside on large chairs lining the walls, such amenities as genuine leather upholstery, computers at each seat, and a mini snack bar up front all seemed like half assed methods of ass-kissing in hopes to distract one from what just happened.

The jet engines of the van fired up and lifted it into he air. They rotated and shot it through the southern sky toward Osaka. The destruction left behind got smaller and smaller in the eyes of each of those who took part in it, but none felt relieved by it. Atop of being used to create this mess, they were now being forced to run away from it.

"Takato." Eric whispered. "You knew this would happen. In fact you counted on it. You rat bastard."

"No one ever calls him that to his face."

They all looked up. Sitting across from them, Beelzemon still gave them that unnerving stare, still with his arms crossed. His steel tail hung over the edge of the seat and its tip twitched nervously.

"Lord knows how everyone wants to." Beelzemon continued. "But yeah, he did know that would happen."

"Why!" Terrance yelled, jumping out of his seat and lunging at Beelzemon, only to be pulled back by Eric and Vulpamon.

Beelzemon didn't bat an eyelid in response.

"He'll give you a better answer than I could."

Terrance gnarred and dug his fingertips into the armrests until they hurt.

"Is Parsley and Peamon alive?" Eric asked.

Beelzemon narrowed his eyes a bit. "I don't know."

* * *

It was midnight, but they were all told he would still be awake. They were told he only slept five hours a day, but that didn't make any difference to any of them.

The elevator doors opened into the familiar dimly lit concrete hallway. Six doors in a row on either side of them led up to a larger, opaque glass double door in front of them.

Eric walked forward, having to be held up at the waist by Vulpamon just from being so overwhelmed. To their right, Terrance walked forward, still holding Chiroptermon, now bandaged, in his arms, both looking forward toward the door.

They did not stop. Vulpamon slammed her palm into the door, cracking it and breaking the lock between the sheets that then slid inches apart. Vulpamon wasted no time in throwing them with all her might into their slots in the wall, cracking them further.

Takato was there, as was promised, typing away at his tiny laptop, the only thing on the old withered desk except for a bottle of half drunk top-shelf sake.

Takato stood up angrily from the sudden display. As soon as he was upright, a palm from Vulpamon's left hand hammered into the side of his face, throwing him back down into the chair.

Takato snarled in pain and threw his head back. He brought it forward for all to see that his right side of his face was bleeding from his lip and nostril.

"You didn't even let me get a word out." Takato grumbled.

Eric picked up Takato's laptop and threw it into the wall, breaking it into three pieces. He jumped over the desk, grabbed Takato by the collar and lifted him up.

"What the hell kind of excuse would you have for doing something like that?" Eric screamed into Takato's face.

Takato turned his head away and closed his eyes. He turned it back with a sneer once the screaming was over.

"I never intended to excuse my actions," Takato answered. "Only to let you know that they were necessary."

"Necessary?" Terrance now hollered, causing Chiroptermon to wince in his arms. "You bloody sop! How many were killed in that freak show!"

"Eleven humans, thirty seven Digimon."

With that answer, Eric let go of Takato with one hand and hit him in the gut. Takato's eyes widened as he collapsed over Eric and spit blood over his shoulder. Eric spun Takato around and threw him back into his seat.

Takato sat delirious for almost a minute, his head slowly turning in circles. He pushed himself forward and fumbled his hand into a drawer to pull out a gold embossed cigarro and a silver zippo. He put it to his lips, lit it and took a deep breath before dropping his head back into the chair.

"Why did you do it?" Eric could only squeak. His hands were clenched and turning brick red while tears streamed down his face.

"There are people working against us," Takato answered. "And I need to know who they are."

"What the hell are you babbling about?" Eric demanded.

Takato shook his head and took another puff of his cigarro. Another deep breath and he continued. "We have some incredible ties here at Hypnos. For an organization that's supposed to be dead, we have a lot of power, and we've tried to use that power to help Digimon as best we could. But I think you all know, only an idiot would assume there aren't other underground organizations like us, with just as much power as we have, only dedicated to oppressing Digimon."

"And what does that have to do with any of this?" Eric whispered.

"We know of one such organization, it's the biggest one of them all. They've been countering our every move in the Digimon's rights world for some time. We know they've got at least as many fronts and ties as we do, if not more. But what we don't know is who they are, and we can't know… until they make a move against us directly. And the only way to do that would be to set them up to make that move."

"That's what this was all about." Vulpamon growled. "Finding out who your enemies are. And you think doing that justifies killing forty eight people?"

Takato closed his eyes and wiped the blood on his face onto his sleeve. He took another deep puff of his cigarro before answering.

"I told Hajime this already, and now I'll tell you. I am a hateful, spiteful, miserable, deceitful, immoral, shameless, wretched old man. I am no one's hero, and I am no one's role model. The great humanity I once had I lost long ago… and yes, I am a killer."

Everyone understood exactly what Takato said. And for once, Eric understood it. He understood it only to well. He began to shiver, and renewed tears poured down his cheeks.

"I hate you." Eric whispered.

Takato took another puff oh his cigarro while nodding his head and throwing one hand into the air in a kind _been there, done that_ gesture.

"Everyone who knows me hates me Hajime." Takato answered. "Even Guilmon. He'll never admit for anything, but even he hates me. And rightfully so."

Eric walked around Takato's desk and threw himself into Vulpamon's arms. She wrapped herself around Eric as tightly as she could without hurting him as he bawled into her chest and ran his fingers through her mane. For once, not even that made him feels better.

Takato stared out with a look of slight irritation at the display.

Terrance was the first to turn around and walk out the now broken door. Vulpamon soon followed, dragging Eric's feet across the ground as she carried him.

"I bet you'd like to know what we found out." Takato spoke up.

Vulpamon stopped in the doorway and flattened her ears against the sides of her head.

"I already know." Vulpamon answered. "It was lower houseman Kondo wasn't it?"

"Keitaro Kondo? He was there yes. He did deliver the infected Digimon. But Kondo is a nobody, an errand boy. He was working for someone else, I sent MarineAngemon in to confirm it. And now that we know Kondo is a part of this whole scheme, we have our ticket to finding out just who these people are… him."

"Do you really think I wanted to know that?" Vulpamon groaned.

"If you didn't," Takato rebutted. "You wouldn't have stopped to listen."

Vulpamon squeezed her eyes shut and grit her teeth.

"Oh by the way." Takato added. "Parsley and Peamon are alive. We're tracking them down right now."


	13. Episode seven, part one

**Author Notes:** Yes, I know I said I wouldn't write another chapter of this until my other Lilo & Stitch fic was done... that was a damn stupid idea, and I think I blame it for my general lack of updates over this spring and summer. I find my current Lilo & Stitch fic harder to write for that this, so what I should've done is gone back to it when I found it too difficult to work on that. That's what I'm going to be doing from now on, or at least until the last three chapters of the Lilo & Stitch fic are finnished.

* * *

Eric stared into the bottom of the small square glass in his hand. His muscles were so limp he could barely hold on. He twirled the glass a little, swirling the ice cubes and the last bit of amber liquid inside. He closed one eye and looked down the glass up close as if trying to look through a telescope. He gave up after a few seconds and drank the last sip.

Eric tossed the glass behind him. It shattered against the floor. He looked over to a vaguely flower shaped bottle next to where the glass was. Had Eric been able to read French, the bottle would've declared itself a champion grand marnier with a price tag of three hundred euros, mostly covered by a the stamp mark of the roughly equal price of fifty thousand yen. A third of the bottle was missing.

Eric fumbled his hand across the black marble countertop, almost knocking the bottle over and then tightly wrapping his hand around the bottle to prevent just that occurrence.

He poured himself another glass.

Eric looked up, an action that momentarily made his eyes spin and his vision to turn painfully bright. Across the counter in the deserted bar were shelves of similar bottles of wines and spirits and liquors and liqueurs, and he was drinking one of the least expensive.

A sick and delightful idea crossed Eric's mind. As soon as he was done with the grand marnier he would browse through the shelves for whatever had the highest price tag, and drink it so fast he wouldn't even have a chance to appreciate it, all just to spite Takato. Eric laughed under his breath. That's what he would do, or at least that's what he told himself he'd do.

He took a sip of his new glass and set it down on a napkin.

"I'd like to shake the hand that beat Takato so hard he spewed blood."

Takato turned his head left and right

_'What the hell was that?'_ Takato thought. _'Did I drink so much I'm hearing things?'_

"Down here dipso!"

Takato tuned back to the right and looked down. He saw some sort of two foot tall, beige anthropomorphic rabbit with horns and ears twice as long its body. Eric leaned his head forward and blinked. It took him a moment longer to realize what exactly he was looking at.

"You!?" Eric said.

"That's right, me." The rabbit answered. "Me, me, me. But enough about me, what about you? You're totally plastered!"

"You inconsiderate prick!" Eric shouted.

"If I'm a prick than you're an axe wound." The rabbit said back smiling.

Eric and the rabbit stared each other down, smirking at first, but it soon turned to grimacing. Soon they were inches away from each other's faces, seemingly having some sort of unspoken contest of who could clench their faces tighter. They could only keep it up for so long.

At once they both burst out laughing. Eric almost fell out of his stool, grabbing the counter to keep from falling. After the laughing fit, Eric pulled the wet napkin from beneath his glass and blew his nose, dropping it to the floor afterward. The rabbit, without asking, scooped up the glass in its ears and took a rather large gulp for a creature so small.

"I tried to teach Terriermon some manners over the years but he just wouldn't have it."

Eric and the rabbit spun around on their stools to see a middle aged Chinese man. He was clean shaven with glasses steel gray hair looking like was never groomed with anything more than hands. He didn't look like he belonged anywhere in whatever building they were in, or even in Japan, considering his dirty, frayed blue jeans and sweater looking like it was pulled right off Charlie Brown.

"Who-" Eric asked.

Terriermon interrupted before Eric could finish. "That's my tamer, Jyanliang Lee." He said, pointing toward the man with an ear.

"My god." Eric whispered. "Jong-long lee?"

"But everyone just calls him Lee because it's easier to pronounce." Terriermon said.

"Especially for a drunk." Lee added.

"You too?" Eric whispered. "You're just as bad."

"You can blame him for that." Lee said, nodding toward Terriermon.

"I'm a bad influence." Terriermon added, nodding his head.

Lee walked past and behind the counter. He reached up and grabbed a brandy glass off a rack with his left hand, and a bottle of cognac off the shelf with his left, looking at neither. He poured himself a glass and took a sip.

"And just why are you inebriating yourself so Eric?" Lee asked.

"I don't know." Eric whispered, shaking his head. He took a drink of his grand marnier. "Maybe because my hero's a bastard son of a bitch, or maybe because forty eight people just got killed on my watch I don't know."

"Any other reason?" Lee asked.

"Yeah." Eric mumbled. "What's the press going to say?"

"Don't worry about the press." Terriermon answered.

"Wha… what?" Eric asked, shaking his head.

"Most of our fronts are media related." Lee said. "We've got major ties to Asahi Shimbun, Kyodo News, New York Times, BBC, INN, and some huge newspaper in India I can't remember the name of. We can get them to say whatever we want about this, and most of the other tycoons usually follow their examples."

"So what are you going to make them say?" Eric asked.

Lee shrugged his shoulders and took another sip of cognac. "They're going to say none of this was your fault. They're going to say digimon haters with ties to the parliament planned the whole mess. That eleven humans and thirty four digimon were murdered by unnamed bigot politicians."

"And that we counted on that to happen." Eric added.

Eric pursed his lips and clamped his eyes shut. His breath became stuttered. He slammed both fists into the counter. Neither Lee nor Terriermon reacted. Tears fell down his face. He sobbed with his mouth closed, making it sound like scrambled wheezing. He grabbed his glass and downed the rest of his grand marnier. He slammed the glass back down on the counter. Seconds later he crushed it in his hand. Neither lee nor Terriermon reacted.

Eric relaxed and lifted his hand letting the pieces of glass fall from it. Blood dripped onto the glass and ice bellow. Eric laughed.

"Where's your god damn catch phrase now Terriermon!?" Eric said laughing. "You going to tell me to take it easy in that crazy language of yours?"

"It's Chinese." Terriermon said.

"Really?" Eric asked. "What dialect?"

Terriermon shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. Besides I really don't think it counts when people get killed."

"Forty eight." Eric mumbled to himself.

"Four hundred and seventeen." Lee said.

"What?"

"The total number of digimon and humans alike who died as a direct result of our actions."

"One thousand one hundred and twenty nine." Terriermon added. "That's how many were saved because of us."

"You can't just excuse how many people you kill by how many people you save." Eric shouted.

Lee sighed and drank the last sip of his cognac. He pushed the bottle and glass to the side and propped his arms up on the counter by his elbows to rest his chin in his hands.

"I know that." Lee said. "But it's just the way espionage works. You have to kill people, some of them innocent, in order to save more people. If you can take one innocent life in order to save ten, than you can't say the blood of those ten aren't on your hands if you don't. This business is little more than constantly choosing the lesser of two evils, because no good choices will ever present themselves if you work the kind of job we do.  
"That's what Takato knows, and that's what we all accept. But that doesn't mean we like it, or him for that matter. And that's why none of us ever wanted to be leader of this operation. We all knew we'd end up just like him if we did."

For some time no one said a word or moved a muscle. A light flickered and water dripped somewhere in the distance. Breathing was the only other sound. Eric became tense. He closed his eyes and grit his teeth. He knew it but never accepted it, simply because he was never told it. Placed in the situation he was in, it was inevitable that Takato became the man he did. Eric scarcely knew though, what position Takato was in at all, though his imagination never fell short of ideas. He had to think of something else or he'd do something dramatic and embarrassing.

"Why don't you just have them say Keitaro Kondo did it!?" Eric shouted. "Attacked the march I mean."

Lee stood up straight and sighed. "And drive him underground, where we'll never find him again? Kondo's our only link to whoever the hell's working against us. We need him to figure out who they are.  
"Come on I want to show you something."

Eric and Terriermon watched Lee walk back out from behind the counter and toward the double doors of the bar. As he opened them he stopped and turned back toward them.

"And it'll probably be a good idea to take some anti-intoxicants before you do." Lee said as left.

Eric let his head fall down onto the counter with a thud.

"And here I was looking forward to a day of drunken stupidity and he says I have to get sober again."

Eric sat back up and took a deep breath with his eyes closed. He bent back and stretched his arms out, popping his sternum. He hunched back over the counter growling. He shook his head and then stood up, having to grab the counter to keep his balance for that moment.

"Truth within lies within truth. And lies within truth within lies." Terriermon said. "That's what they say this is all about. But I don't get it. You either tell the truth or you lie. How can you wrap them up like that? It doesn't seem possible."

"You're lucky to be an ancestral digimon Terriermon." Eric grumbled. "Oh yeah, what's the most expensive bottle on that shelf?"

Terriermon pointed with an ear to a large bottle of red wine with an antiqued yellow label marked in calligraphy.

"That right there's four and a half million yen." Terriermon said.

Eric smirked. He grabbed the half emptied bottle of grand marnier and chucked it at the wine. Both bottles shattered, spraying glass and spirits all over the wood of the shelves and the mirrored wall behind them.

"Bulls eye!" Terriermon exclaimed.

Eric turned to walk out of the bar when he felt something soft tugging at his shoulder. He turned his head to see one Terriermon's pseudofingered ears resting on it. He turned the rest of the way.

"I'm still waiting for that handshake." Terriermon said.

* * *

The single door had to be two stories tall, seamless brushed steel, curved outward slightly. Only the door was illuminated. There was no way of telling how wide the room was. Perhaps the walls began just past the sides of the door, or perhaps the room was acres across. They could only tell how long it was, as they'd walked somewhere around thirty meters from the elevator to get to this door.

Eric stood hands in pockets, staring at this door curiously, perhaps just a bit tired, but not impressed. After spending so many days here, there were few things he could see that would impress him.

Lee stood next to the door itself, looking down at its only feature. In front of him was a control panel with a keypad, two palm scanners, and a card slot. Lee reached into a pocket and removed an electronic card. He licked the back strip and inserted it into the slot. The palm scanners lit up. Lee pressed his hands against them and a green light ran across them. The keyboard lit up. Lee typed a password.

Both Lee and Eric winced at the sudden sound of metal grinding against metal. Seconds later, it was gone.

"What you're about to see is the heart and soul of our organization." Lee said.

Eric didn't respond.

In stark contrast to before, the door slid open with the sound of escaping steam. Eric squinted as the light poured through the door. It was soft, but from from spending so long in the general darkness of the complex, it seemed bright.

Moments later, Eric's eyes adjusted and he saw something that really did impress him. Through that door was a room nearly the size of three football fields placed side by side. Despite this, there wasn't much walking space, which was marked by red painted aisles through the room. Beyond the aisles on the left side of the room were desks, huge multilevel desks on each of which sat multiple computers, drafting machines, and an array of devices, few of which Eric recognized, but the ones he did were all for hiding one's online presence.

To the right was the heavy equipment. There were rows of huge drafting machines, servers, giant fiber optic routers each handling hundreds of lines, and metal cabinets filled with who knows what kind of esoteric tools.

Despite the size, and the number of machines that looked like they needed attention, there were few inhabitants of this room. What few there were, were all digimon. There were in training to champion, new and ancestral alike. But in all there were likely less than twenty of them.

Eric walked into room. Though his body was still relaxed, his face gave away his awe. He looked up with his mouth barely open and his brow tight. He walked down the center aisle ahead of Lee, looking side to side, up and down, at every known, unknown, and unknowable piece of equipment large and small furnishing this… what looked to be warehouse. The digimon only briefly looked up at him before continuing whatever they were doing. He didn't notice.

Eric stopped when he finally looked forward. He took his hands out of his pockets and looked up. His eyes widened. And his brow tightened further. Eric had no idea what he was looking at, other than that it was massive. It looked like metal hexagonal towers, each five meters across. There were six of them placed side by side, wrapping around into a kind of near hexagon made of the smaller hexagons. In front of it, six terminals doubling as desks looking like they props from some old TV space serial. Sitting I odd contoured chairs at each of these desks were giant ants, Formimon, the size of large dogs. They worked their terminals frantically, even though it was clear there was nothing to be working on. They briefly looked up at Eric before returning to work.

A hand landed on Eric's shoulder. He jumped but made no sound. He turned to see Lee walk past him, into the center of the circle of desks.

"This is Plexus," Lee said. "our center of operations. Each of the six mainframes are small for supercomputers, and even all together it's far from the biggest or the fastest. But each of the six mainframes has a radically different architecture from all the others. When connected, its capable of performing things no other computer can. It can program and troubleshoot itself. Instead of crashing from unknown inputs, it adapts to them and interprets them. In many ways it's like a living brain. The only downside is that using it requires perfectly synchronized access to all six mainframes at once. That's why we put the Formimon at the controls. Being hive minded, synchronizing comes naturally to them."

"How did you fund all of this?" Eric whispered.

"From the ruins of the real Hypnos." Lee answered. "Do you know of Yamaki Mitsuo?"

"He was the administrator of Hypnos." Eric whispered. "The original Hypnos I mean. After the D-Reaper battle he single handedly orchestrated the entire anti digimon movement. He created the DRS, and he led them through the Shinjuku gate in what was supposed to be an assault on the digital world. It was a disaster. His whole force was slaughtered, and ten thousand digimon came through the gate into our world."

"The digimon came to greet them originally." Lee added. "They had no idea the DRS was going to attack them. But when they did, my god did the digimon fight back. It wasn't even a fight it was just a massacre. Yamaki barely escaped alive. You've got wonder what that does to a guy."

"What ever happened to Yamaki?" Eric asked.

"We don't know." Lee answered, shaking his head. "There's rumors he's living in somewhere in eastern Russia but I doubt it. If he's still alive he'd be in his late seventies."

"Why'd you ask me about him?"

"I almost forgot." Lee said, momentarily dropping his head into his hand. "How'd we fund this place. Yamaki had hundreds of secret bank accounts in tax free countries all over the world, Switzerland, Taiwan, Jamaica, Aruba, the list goes on. We don't know when those accounts were formed, and I doubt any of that money was obtained legally, but all of it together was about…"

Lee paused. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a palm sized compy. He flipped it open and typed with his free hand.

"Hold on," Lee grumbled. "Let the convert the values real quick. Right. The whole thing was roughly eighty billion dollars US."

"Eighty billion dollars!?" Eric whispered.

Eric had a hard time getting that number through his head. Eighty billion dollars.

"How the hell… …"

"Did he get it?" Lee finished Eric's question. "We don't know. Our best guess is that is was through forged military grants that were kept under dummy accounts before being transferred to wherever they'd be stored.  
It actually turned out to be much more than we needed, hence all the luxury."

Eric still had a hard time fathoming this. Countries like Russia, China, and the United States all had military budgets in the hundreds of billions.

"But how could anyone do that so many times without getting caught?" Eric asked.

"Hypnos Core. Their supercomputer" Lee answered. "After all, it was designed to monitor the entire collective traffic of the internet… well… back when such a thing was possible. It's not a stretch that he'd be able to use it for mass global fraud. As near as we can tell, he used those funds to create the DRS, and planned on using them to recreate Hypnos as a private enterprise if it were ever disbanded, which it was. But he didn't get the opportunity, since we got hold of them. Soon as we got it, all Yamaki's former colleges fell in line with us, and we've been Hypnos ever since."

"How did you get it?"

"It was so easy it was almost stupid. When the Metro Government Building was destroyed, there wasn't much left of Hypnos Core. They just threw the computer into a landfill. Well, Takato, Rika, Ryo, and myself all knew there were still things to be found there, so we raided the dump at night and took what we could, a few dozen half burnt hard drives, one tactile-visual interface that was mostly intact, and, uhhh, a terminal that had been hooked up to it which somehow survived.  
We could crack them all at our leisure. And once we did, we found them. The locations and passwords of one hundred and seventeen bank accounts owned by Yamaki himself. That's where all this came from."

"Why did you tell me that?" Eric asked.

Lee lowered his head and breathed deep, sighing on the exhale. He readjusted his glasses and put his hands on his hips. All the talking before gave him the need to clear up before doing so again. He turned back around to Eric and folded his arms.

"Because Takato would never tell you these things himself. And whatever the hell he thinks, I believe you deserve to know them."

"Than how about this." Eric demanded. "Why does he call me Hajime?"

Lee extended his index finger and shook his head.

"I'll tell you everything I know" Lee sighed. "But only Takato knows for sure why he calls you Hajime. Sorry."

Eric closed his eyes and huffed. He clenched his fists momentarily. His every attempt at finding out just what the hell that name meant led to a dead end. The name was the only connection he had to his parents, his real parents, whoever they were. Eric took deep breaths and slowly relaxed his hands and his face. There was nowhere he could get with the subject, he could only move on to a new one.

"So why did you bring me here in the first place?" Eric asked.

Lee shrugged his shoulders.

"To tell you what I just did." Lee answered. "And to tell you this. We're about to find out where Parsley's at."

Eric blinked. He shook his head. There was no way.

"There's no way you could find her that fast." He nearly yelled.

Lee turned around. He unfolded his arms hand put his hands in his pockets.

"Among other things." Lee said. "Plexus sorts through every open publication on the internet, online games, blogs, news sources, public chat rooms, you name it, as long it not secured this baby sees it. It doesn't monitor traffic or secured publications like Hypnos core did, the internet's just too damn big and complicated to do that now, unlike when I was twelve."Sorry, I'm rambling. Point is, Plexus has an AI that analyses all of this for things that might be useful to us. And we found out that after suffering minor injuries, Parsley escaped Shinjuku park with Peamon, and they were both picked up by private investigators who took her back to her mother in Hong Kong, a woman by the name of Da-Xia who owns a top shelf soda and brewing company. A high society snob, bitch to endth degree, it's no wonder her daughter hates her so much.  
"Hey Formimon, you all got a fix on her position?"

Through the conversation Eric had become scarcely aware of the six Formimon at their six consoles, or of the dozen or so more digimon that occupied the room. Throughout it, the Formimon had said nothing, never even looked up except for that brief moment when Eric walked up to them. Hive minded, Lee said. They'd only speak when spoken to, and they'd just been. The Formimon all looked up at Lee at once, their once drooping antennae now raised straight up.

Each only spoke part of a sentence before another picked it up.

"Da-Xia and Parsley Tsung are living" "in the uppermost penthouse suite" "of the silk star high-rise apartment complex" "in the Causeway Bay district" "of Hong Kong Island." "The whereabouts of Peamon" "are unknown" "at this time."

Lee smiled and looked back at Eric, who stared somewhat confused at the Formimon with a furrowed brow.

"We'll send Beelzemon to retrieve them." Lee said.

Eric kept staring at the Formimon for just seconds before realizing what he'd just heard. He shook his head.

"Beelzemon!" Eric shouted. "Beelzemon are you crazy! He'll to wreck half the building looking for her! At least… from what I know of him."

"In that case would you like to go after her yourself?" Lee asked.

"What?" Eric asked back.

"You, Terrance, Vulpamon and Chiroptermon could do this without incident. And she'd be much more willing to go with you four than with Beelzemon."

Eric slumped his shoulders forward and dropped his head.

"That was the real reason you brought me here, wasn't it?"

* * *

Hot water and steam so thick you could barely see a few feet in front of you. It soaked through fur and across skin. Fur soaked in hot water weighed one down. You could not remain tense when hot water flowed across you. Even if your mind demanded it, your body would not allow such a thing. Hot water was instant, forced relaxation.

That's why Vulpamon was there, in the master shower of what was called suite number one. Supposedly it was Takato's personal ten thousand square foot retreat within the complex. The shower alone was an ovoid room of almost a hundred square feet. The water sprayed down as a mist from metal tracks running along the ceiling.

Vulpamon looked to her left. Except for the doors, the wall of the shower was glass brick. She looked to her right. The whole right wall was fog proof glass looking into a tropical terrarium almost the size of the shower itself, complete with flowers, vines, and a tiny pond full of lily pads.

She looked back up, barely able to see the ceiling through the steam, and closed her eyes. She wrapped her arms around her shoulders, and then did something she was scarcely capable of in any other situation, away from the involuntary relaxation induced by the hot water. She tilted her head back, bared her teeth, and clamped her eyes shut. She trembled, and then she sobbed. It began with only a whimper, but soon enough Vulpamon cried so hard she could scarcely breath.

It all lasted only a minute before it dimmed out just as quickly as it came on. Vulpamon's face was left still, with fatigue its only expression. The water let her do that, but it didn't seem enough. But it would have to be, at least for now.

Vulpamon's arms shook briefly as she extended them to her sides. As soon as they regained strength, she pushed herself up to stand. She twisted a knob on the wall just beyond the glass to the terrarium. Sliding the door open, Vulpamon stepped out of the shower/room onto cold tile. Her fur, slicked down, dripped water into puddles.

The door to a round chamber just big enough for Vulpamon to turn herself around inside was just to the side of the shower. She opened it and stepped inside. As soon as she closed the door, jets of hot air blew against her from dozens of vents.

* * *

She followed Vulpamon's smell to the point, but dared not go further. Now she sat and waited for her. She knew whoever went into Suite number one was best left alone until they came back out. She waited in the steel hallway sitting in a metal foldout chair. For all the lavishness of the dorms and mess areas, the hallways were almost totally barren.

She clicked her claws against the metal bars just bellow the seat. Her tail flicked up and down in irritation at waiting so long. There was too much business she had with this Vulpamon and too little patience to wait so long for her at the door to suite number one. She never had much patience, just like Vulpamon.

Finally the handle to the door began to turn. In an instant she was in front of the door with her arms folded and the best serious expression she could muster.

In one hand Vulpamon held a large comb she used to brush down that last bit of fur in her mane that stood on end. Her other hand reached for the door. Plain brushed steel with a door spanning handle like you'd see in a school, polar opposite of the rest of the suite.

Vulpamon froze as soon as she saw what was beyond the door. For a moment she thought she was hallucinating, that the stress of what happened over the past few days finally became too much for her. No, it was real, the famous ancestral digimon whom for strange reason was a color reversed image of herself.

For as long as they stared at each other, time stood still. Each examined the features of the other. With the sole exception of color, they were exactly the same in every way. Even the difference in smell barely registered in either of them. And the experience was just as bizarre for the one outside the door as it was for the one inside.

For a while, they both continued to stare motionless. Until finally.

"What are you doing here!?" Vulpamon demanded.

"I have business with you." Renamon answered.

They even sounded exactly the same. Their voices startled both of them, but both of them hid it in their expressions at least. But neither was able to talk for another minute or two.

"What business?" Vulpamon finally asked.

"I have suspicions about you." Renamon answered. "And I want to know if they're true or not. Are you going to let me in?"

Vulpamon leered at her doppelganger. No, she was the doppelganger. Renamon came first. The upended fur on her tail screamed _escape_. But it was one of the few things that did. The morbid, indignant curiosity drove her actions. Was their appearance more than coincidence?

Vulpamon stepped aside.

Renamon walked into the room. Vulpamon watched her intently.

The inside of Suite number One looked allot like the inside of a Mediterranean themed casino. There were marble tile floors, red fabric walls, and cloudy skies painted onto the ceiling. There was leather furniture and antiqued paintings. And the trim was all faded gold.

Renamon sat down on a couch in a living area.

"What do you want from me?" Vulpamon asked.

"How do you feel about your tamer?" Renamon asked back.

Vulpamon narrowed her eyes and bared her teeth. To be asked such personal questions so nonchalantly was insulting, especially by someone she'd never met, who didn't seem to have the courtesy of explaining just what it was about her that was so confusing. It didn't matter if Renamon was ancestral, she should know some sort of social subtleties. Vulpamon bared her claws and squeezed her hands together.

No, this was not a digimon to be provoked. It was well over forty years old, had already experienced its mega form, and had absorbed the data of god knows how many other digimon. There was no way she could possibly intimidate Renamon, much less beat her in a fight.

Vulpamon took deep breaths and forced her muscles to relax.

"You should already know." Vulpamon answered.

"I'm not talking about your relationship." Renamon snapped back. "I'm asking you how you feel about having him as a tamer, about having a tamer at all."

Vulpamon didn't answer.

"We've traced your history Vulpamon." Renamon continued. "You first bioemerged in Seward Alaska. You wandered from there to Seattle where you first encountered the DRS. You rejected their ultimatum of being issued a tamer or dying by their hand. You barely escaped alive. From then on you became a nomad, and for four years you wandered around the world, from Seattle to Mexico down to Chile, and then stowing away to Europe, running from certain death only because you hated the thought of having. When circumstances gave you no choice but to take one, you went out of your way to find a tamer who would act as anything but. And even today, I'd imagine the thought of having a tamer disgusts you."

"I see no point in this discussion!!!" Vulpamon screamed.

The effects of Renamon's words were apparent from the most passing of glances. Vulpamon's body was clenched tight as if she were staring down an enemy. Her teeth and claws were bared and her pupils thinned into slits. Her tail flicked back and forth and its hair stood on end.

Renamon looked at Vulpamon as she had been, seemingly without a care as to Vulpamon's state.

"Now one of us is going to leave!" Vulpamon growled.

Renamon did not move.

After a time, Vulpamon conceded. She stood up straight, folded her arms, and began walking toward the door.

"The point of the discussion is that you're different from other digimon." Renamon said as Vulpamon was almost at the door.

Vulpamon froze. She closed her eyes and flattened her ears against her head. She was different from other digimon. The words gave cold sensation on her neck. She was different from other digimon. Anyone could see that. But the way Renamon said it. She knew. She knew it was more than just eccentricity. She knew it was fundamental. That's what caused the coldness. There was only one way of getting rid of it, and that was by confronting the source.

Vulpamon turned back to Renamon, her eyes wide.

"That's the reason you're so distant, isn't it?" Renamon asked. "That was the reason I was so distant. I was different from the other digimon of my time. And I never thought any of them could understand. I was right about that. But I was wrong when I thought the same thing of humans.  
"Come here Vulpamon, I want to how you something."

Vulpamon's every nerve told her to attack Renamon, but her body would not respond to her commands. Her feet moved on their own, walking her toward Renamon, stopping when she stood above her likeness.

Renamon reached into the sleeve of one of her arm guards. When she removed her fingers, she held what looked like two bronze coins set atop each other with a small space between them.

Vulpamon still didn't feel in control of her body. She took the coins and twisted them in opposite directions. What appeared above them was a hologram of a creature Renamon was vaguely familiar with. He was humanoid, and covered in blood red fur. His hair of the same color flowed down to the small of his back. His hands and feet were clawed, and horns like gazelle horns swept back from his head, along with fangs from his mouth. He wore nothing but frayed khaki pants and bandoleers over his chest.

"A NeoFlamon?" Vulpamon asked.

"That particular NeoFlamon is my lover." Renamon answered.

There was no visible change in Vulpamon. She held the hologram in front of her and stared at it like she'd been doing. She heard and understood the words but the implications hadn't registered. As soon as they did, Vulpamon let the hologram fall to the floor, but remained unchanged otherwise. She stayed there for a time before squeezing her and in front of her and returning it to its side.

"That's not possible." Vulpamon whispered. "You're an-"

"Ancestral digimon?" Renamon interrupted. "Not quite. Shortly after I hatched I knew that I had qualities that other digimon did not share. Unlike the rest of them, I could see through most of their childish lies, and could even learn to anticipate them. I could recognize patterns of behaviors and of the world that they could not. But most of all, I knew I needed something that none of them were aware of. Though I didn't understand it myself.  
"It wasn't until I first came into contact with humans, and learned of the existence of genders that I realized what I was. I was female."

Vulpamon shook her head. "That's not possible. Ancestral digimon are androgynous!"

"I already told you, I'm not an ancestral digimon." Renamon said. "But I'm not a new digimon either. I can understand many things about culture, politics, sociology, and economics that they could not. And I am female, with female needs. But at the same time I was born from a digi-egg, not from a mother and father, I bonded with a child rather than an adult, and the finer points of deception still elude my understanding.  
"To be honest, when I first truly understood myself I believed I was a freak. But with the emergence of the New Digimon I learned I wasn't. What I was, was a bridge between old digimon and new, the prototype for what would eventually become the next stage in digimon evolution."

"And what does that make me?" Vulpamon asked.

"I don't know." Renamon answered in a whisper. "But whatever the case, my business with you is now concluded."

Renamon stood up and walked toward the door. Vulpamon watched as she did so. Renamon opened the door and stepped out, but just as she was to close it.

"I thought you were always quiet." Vulpamon said.

"I used to be." Renamon replied. "Until I learned that I didn't have to hide form my companions."

Renamon let the door close.

Vulpamon fell over, landing on her stomach on the leather couch Renamon had just gotten up from. Vulpamon huffed and brought her hands over her eyes. It would take a long, long time to fully grasp what just hapened.

"I need another shower. Vulpamon whispered to herself.


	14. Episode seven, part two

**Author Notes:** After such a long hiatus, I've finally submitted one more chapter of Digimon Rising. I know I've promised each time I've done this that I'll start publishing more often, and I've never followed through. Well, I'm not going to promise that anymore. I'll only say, I really, really want to. With that in mind, I've decided to abandon my writing schedule altogether, since it only ever did me more harm than good. Now I write when I can, not when a planner tells me to.

**Story Notes:** I had to do quite a bit of research on Chinese culture and customs to give this chapter a genuine feeling. Now I'm presenting a pretty unflattering view of traditional Chinese culture, and it is purposeful. What I would really love is to have someone from eastern China read this and tell me how accurate I made it... preferably someone who wouldn't be offended by my portrayal.

* * *

The finest of food and drink was splayed out within the finest of china, silverware and glassware, amidst the finest of linens atop the finest sculpted wood and marble. The sight elicited the desire to flee, as it looked more like a museum centerpiece, forbidden from being touched, even though that was what one was supposed to do with it.

A gold trimmed porcelain bowel was filled only an inch or so with what looked like yellowed cream drizzled with a red liquid in a flowery pattern, with a dollop of caviar right in the center. The bowel itself was placed atop a napkin atop an even more ornate plate. Both were so thin they looked like they'd shatter from a tap. There was a saucer of foie gras arranged in a spiral pattern and an oversized stemless wineglass filled with water and assorted sliced fruit. Eleven pieces of silverware were arranged directly to the sides. It could only be a point of vanity, since most of them were unnecessary.

A Chinese girl stared down at the meal disparately. It was not the only thing to despair about. Her hair was tied back in ox horns –a bun on each side with single braids trailing from them–. She wore what looked like a blue pageant dress, complete with bows and trailing ribbons.

She looked up at her surroundings and out the left window, observing the dawn city lights backdropped by the lights of countless ships of every size and function. The boats themselves were backdropped by the traffic of skycars and flying wings. Nothing in the room was worth looking at; there was nothing more than red fabric walls with gold trim and vases full of dried flowers atop pedestals.

The girl looked back at her meal. She picked up a spoon and pulled it through the soup, ruining the pattern drizzled on top. She let the spoon fall. It hit the bowl with a ping that echoed through the room.

"_Are you even going to touch the bisque?_"

It was the stern voice of a mature woman, speaking in Cantonese.

The girl looked up. Across the table sat a petite Chinese woman in her mid forties, wearing a dull purple dress suit and with her hair tied back in a bun. Thin glasses hung from the tip of her nose. Her hands and lips were shut tight. She seemed militant.

"_I'd rather just have a plate of soup dumplings and a latte._" The girl replied.

"_Peasant food!_" The woman said. "_You will learn to show esteem to the world_ Parsley, _or do I have to send you back to charm school?_"

Parsley shut her eyes tight.

"_No mother._" She said.

Parsley scooped up a spoonful of soup from the sides of the bowel to avoid the caviar. She swallowed the ice cold soup as fast as possible. It was tasteless and nearly textureless.

Parsley's mother smiled and ate her own spoonful more slowly. She wiped her mouth with a napkin even though there was nothing on her lips. Parsley's mother closed her eyes and sighed.

"_Your father's death dealt a blow to this family's esteem that took me five years to repair._" Parsley's mother said. "_The job wasn't made easier by the fact that I was an unmarried woman operating an international business. And what you did might take another ten years to repair of word of it ever got out. I thought I would have taught you by now that family is the most important thing in the world._"

"_If that's true._" Parsley grumbled. "_Why would you throw a member of your family out on the street to be killed by the troops._"

Parsley's mother stood with such force it rattled the dishes in front of her. She hit her fists against the table. Parsley recoiled in shock and stared wide eyed at her mother.

"_The measure of a family is in its esteem!_" Parsley's mother said. "_Vespamon could have only harmed it! And I will not allow you to destroy our family's esteem, not by taking in filthy insect Digimon from the street, and certainly not by running away and getting yourself caught up in some barbaric paraphile revolution!_"

Parsley's mother fell back into her seat and dropped her head into her hand.

"_I thought family was supposed to be about people who cared about each other._" Parsley whispered. "_People who care about each other don't throw each other away to die just because they aren't pretty enough._"

Parsley's mother looked up.

"_I let you spend too much time around commoners._" Parsley's mother said. "_Their western values have infected you._"

Parsley shut her eyes and clenched her hand and teeth. Her arms trembled and she started to hyperventilate. Her mother leaned forward as if unsure of what she was doing.

Parsley stood up, knocking over her chair. She picked up her bowl and threw it against the wall, shattering it and spraying bisque all over. She picked up her glass and threw it across the table, which landed and broke just short of her mother's dish. Her mother remained impassive to the display.

"_Are we in Shanghai?! Is this nineteen ninety?!_ _You know why so many people hated us for so long?!_" Parsley screamed, "_It's because of you! You and people like you! The only thing you people ever give a damn about is esteem! What about people? Do you give a damn about people? Do lives have any value other than how good they can make other people look? I hope you drown in your own vomit you stupid bitch!_"

Parsley ran out of the room, ramming the doors open with her shoulder. Her mother sat still and silent through her berating.

"_Charm school it is then._" Parsley's mother whispered to herself.

* * *

Parsley lay above the covers in a king sized bed propped so high off the floor that a wooden box was placed next to it so that she could climb onto it. The bed's drapes were pulled shut. The sheets, blankets, pillows, and drapes were all cherry red with gold embroidery. A lamp on a swing-arm at the front of the bed illuminated Parsley. Her eyes were pulled wide open and tears streamed down her face, but she was still and silent as a rock.

Memories wisped through Parsley's head.

* * *

The roof of the Silk Star high-rise apartment building was filled with potted plants, flowers, bamboo, shrubs, and herbs. Black and indigo carpets covered up the roofing, and no one dared dirty their shoes by stepping off them. A white sheet draped over the door to the foyer leading to the roof, a gong hung from iron supports to its left.

An open black coffin faced the sheet propped up on wooden stools. At its foot was a simple polymer altar piled with bouquets, letters on fine paper, trinkets of superstition, and metal discs projecting holographic images of the deceased, a middle aged man with glasses and long hair. A plasma lamp, painted white, burned in the center of the table, surrounded by silver saucers of burning incense. In front of the altar was a table onto which people took turns placing small dishes of various types of food and then burned hell-dollars in a tiny electrical kiln built to look like a vase. A seven year old Parsley Tsung waited in line to put a tiny cup of rice on the table.

When her turn came, Parsley lingered at the coffin after placing her offering at the table. A plaque at its base read '_Tsung Rong'_ in Mandarin. Parsley tried several times before she could read the mandarin inscription of her father's name, and wondered why it wasn't written in Cantonese, as that's what everyone there spoke. The others burned hell-dollars in denominations of millions and billions. She had only a single one hell-dollar bill.

"_Put it in the kiln._" An older woman in an indigo dress told Parsley.

Parsley looked down at the single one hell-dollar note. "_I want to keep it._" She said. "_If everyone is giving daddy so much money, why even bother with this? It won't make any difference to him._"

The older woman grabbed the note from Parsley's hand and shoved into the kiln, and then shoved her out of the line. Parsley returned to her seat among rows of metal fold out chairs surrounding each side of the coffin.

Parsley's mother Dia-Xa Tsung sat next to her in another black dress. She cried, wailing, almost screaming, into a black handkerchief. The cries seemed forced to Parsley, not just her mother's but everyone's. Parsley knew that the wails and screams were a job rather than a display of emotion, but she couldn't bring herself to do so. Tears ran freely down her cheeks but she couldn't make a sound. The noise was too much. It stung her ears and hurt her head, and put her in too much shock for her to make a sound of her own.

The next memory had no images associated with it, only the sensations of sound and touch were there, all other senses drew a blank.

"_Why didn't you scream?!_" Parsley's mother hollered at her.

Dia-Xa's voice was more furious at that moment than Parsley had ever remembered it being. The sound came with the feeling of hands grasping her collar and shaking her until she was too dizzy to even register the meaning of the words yelled at her.

"_Rong Tsung was a man of national esteem! When you cry for him, you scream! You scream as loud as you can! Why didn't you scream?!_"

Parsley couldn't remember how she responded it if she even responded at all, but a response was given to her.

"_Your silence insults everything this family's worked to achieve! I'm going to have to spend the next two years apologizing for what you did you stupid bitch! First thing tomorrow I'm sending you to charm school. They'll teach you to scream when you cry._"

That imageless memory faded into one Parsley could see clearly. She wore a purple dress and raincoat and sat beneath a covered table just outside of a stir-fry cart nestled between two skyscrapers while it sprinkled and cars drove by. She stared at the table next to her. Three people and their Ancestral Digimon sat down chatting with each other as if not having a care in the world.

They were teenagers, and Americans. They all wore jeans. Two wore sneakers and hoodies with logos. The third wore cowboy boots and a very old leather jacket. They all chatted amongst each other at once, not caring about taking turns. Parsley imagined that perhaps they weren't even aware of the concept of taking turns to speak. Only one ate with chopsticks, the second used a fork, and the third his fingers. They let their Kunemon –a yellow caterpillar Digimon– sit on the table and eat right from the plate. Their Otamamon –a blue tadpole Digimon– also stood on the table and ate with its hands. Only the Gazimon sat in a chair, and it showed off its talent for rapidly stabbing a knife between its fingers without hitting its hand.

It was one of the most amazing things Parsley had ever seen. The Americans and their Digimon clearly understood formality, but dismissed it, acting however they wanted only because they felt like doing so.

This was not the only such memory. Parsley had many like it, watching Americans, British, and Australians on the streets, always acting in that same manner. The strangest thing was that they never insisted that she join their frivolities. They merely let her stare, and left her to her own devices.

That memory faded into one that took place only hours later. Once the rain stopped, she walked down the Hong Kong streets, looking down at the sidewalk, not knowing or caring where she went.

When Parsley finally looked up, adandoned warehouses with broken windows surrounded her. Cars and people never stopped when they came through.

Parsley looked down an aisle. Puddles in cracked concrete gave way to old brick and a web of power and fiber optic lines that were no longer connected to anything. The lights had no power. Something dug through a rusted garbage can. The can fell over and a Digimon crawled out of it. It looked like a half meter tall, meter long wingless hornet. It had antennae that looked like feathers, short fur in red and silver stripes, and glossy black eyes. It held a ball of dirty old rice in its three fingers hands and tried to eat it as quickly as possible.

Parsley walked down the aisle toward the Digimon. Hearing her footsteps, its antennae stood up straight. It looked at her band backed away hissing and clutching its rice protectively.

"_I wasn't going to take it away._" Parsley said in Cantonese.

The Digimon took several more steps back and hissed again.

"_I just want to help._" Parsley said.

"Do you speak English?" The Digimon asked. It sounded like a woman speaking with lungs full of helium.

"Yes, I speak English." Parsley answered.

"What do you want?!" The Digimon shouted and backed away again.

"I just wanted to know your name."

The Digimon blinked several times and ate the rest of her rice.

"I'm Vespamon." She said. "Now what do you want?"

"I want to know why you're digging through a trash can."

"You know damn well why I'm doing that!" Vespamon shouted. "I show my face anywhere civilized and the DRS blows a hole through my ass the size of a dinner plate. Now get the hell out of here, this is the wrong part of town for you to be in."

Parsley stepped closer to Vespamon, who stepped back again.

"Why did you come to the physical world?" Parsley asked.

"What's it matter to you?" Vespamon barked back.

"I just want to know."

Vespamon blinked at Parsley. Her antennae relaxed and she sat down on the wet concrete. She slumped over and sighed.

"I came here to escape the fighting." Vespamon said.

"What fighting?" Parsley asked.

"You humans aren't much aware of what's going on in the Digital world," Vespamon said. "Not after you put the firewalls up over all the gates. But there's a war going on there. I don't think you'd understand it… except for that… well, my sisters. They um…"

"I think I understand." Parsley said. "Are they dead?"

Vespamon shook her head. A long silence passed between them. Several times, Vespamon would raise her head and try to speak, but wouldn't say anything. She blinked periodically. She then began to pace in circles.

"Vespamon?" Parsley asked.

Vespamon stopped and slumped over. She looked back at Parsley.

"I don't know." Vespamon said. "I don't know if they're alive or dead. They were forced to fight in the war. I came here to escape."

Vespamon looked back down at the concrete and smashed her hands into it, cracking it further.

"Why the hell was I so stupid?!" Vespamon shouted. "To think that everything would be better as soon as I came here. I've been here a month without a tamer, and now they'll kill me if I show my face. Even if it's to get a tamer they don't care anymore, they'll kill me anyway."

Vespamon sat down on the concrete and dragged a finger in circles through a puddle. She shook her head.

"I shouldn't bother you with this." Vespamon said. "You should go back home, and forget I was ever here."

Parsley walked up to Vespamon and sat down in the puddle in front of her. Vespamon looked up at Parsley. Up close, Parsley could see that Vespamon's face seemed almost more mammal than it did insect. Vespamon looked away.

"I said go home." Vespamon grumbled.

Parsley grabbed Vespamon's hands.

"I'll be your tamer." Parsley said.

Vespamon looked back at Parsley and tilted her head. Her antennae waved back and fourth and she blinked repeatedly. Parsley gazed into Vespamon's eyes.

"If we hold hands, they'll think I'm already be your tamer. That way we can get all the way to the registration office safely."

Vespamon blinked several more times.

* * *

Parsley still lay on her bed with the drapes closed. Her eyes still poured tears and yet she was still completely still and silent. She continued to do so for some time, until finally the tears would no longer come. For far longer she lay like a statue, with little to indicate she was even alive. She did not blink, and even her breathing was too slow to register.

A ray of sunlight broke through the drapes and shown on Parsley's face. She squeezed her eyes shut and sat up, sneezing seconds later. She breathed deeply and crawled to the drapes to open them.

Almost one whole side of the room was a window with views overlooking the small islands surrounding Hong Kong. The other side was almost one huge mirror. The rest of the room was red carpet and dark wood walls. Antique wooden wardrobes, desks, and dressers were shoved against the walls.

Parsley jumped down from her bed and walked up to a large, cherry-red roll top desk with its flap opened and children's trinkets filling its interior. A small panel of wood on one of the legs was loose. Parsley sat on her knees and gripped the loose panel with her fingers. She bit her tongue as she scraped her fingers trying to pry open the loose panel.

The panel came off, leaving a small hollow space in the leg. Parsley reached in with her fingers, fumbling, and pulled out what looked like two palm sized bronze coins connected by a smaller black disc between them. Parsley grabbed the top piece in one hand and the bottom piece in the other, and twisted. One hand was covered in static, like television static, until she moved it out of the way. In its place was a small holographic image, which Parsley righted to look at better.

The image was of Vespamon, the wingless, furry, wasp Digimon, with a years younger Parsley sitting on her thorax. They both looked forward and smiled.

Parsley gripped the device as tightly as her fingers could squeeze. She bit her lower lip and sat down. She released one hand and waved it through it image, as if trying to pet it, but only succeeding in briefly turning it into static. She put the device on the floor and stared into the images of Vespamon's eyes. Parsley's eyes furrowed and her lips pursed, giving a look of intense concentration. After a minute it worked, tears began to flow freely from Parsley's eyes. She bit her tongue until it bleed to make herself tear up.

Parsley at that moment started sobbing out loud, softly at first, but growing until she wailed into her hands in front of the image. Her cries were at the point just quieter than could be heard outside the door. But her cries were forced, an act rather than an expression. It was the ultimate rejection of, and insult to, her family. Parsley forced herself to cry out loud over the death of a filthy insect Digimon taken in from the street, when she couldn't do so for her own father. But she was too afraid to tell her mother that she did so.

* * *

Huge, gold colored bird feet with straight talons walked through the water running through a gutter. They swept wet old papers and cans and plastic cups out of their way as they shuffled. The rain slightly dulled Peamon's otherwise vibrant colors and her feathers pulled tight against her body to keep her dry. She looked down not only to keep the rain out of her face, but in shame.

Having wandered under the safety of a checkerboard cloth awning, Peamonshook herself dry and looked up.

Old brick and concrete and sheet metal and polymer warehouses surrounded Peamon. The roads, unused in decades, had fallen into disrepair of cracks and potholes and shelves. Wherever this place was, it was used for little more than storage.

Peamon pressed her backside against the concrete wall and then sat down on the sidewalk under the awning. She looked out at the various shapes and sized and colors of warehouse, the only thing there was to see, and sighed. Paemon closed her eyes and tucked her head under her wing. Peamon's own memories began to come back to her.

* * *

Peamon stood almost upright, as upright as such a bird can stand. She stood on a wooden pedestal in a circular room with red carpets and walls embroidered with swirling gold designs. Full length mirrors hung from the walls surrounding the room. Victorian Chairs and antique desks and paintings and china cabinets and other useless things the likes of which you'd find at a grand mansion tour lined the walls with a semblance of order in their placement.

A short, chubby, balding, and squinting Chinese man in glasses and a gold suit walked around Peamon again and again with his arms clasped behind his back. Other men in similar suit stood lined up side by side by the door to the room.

Peamon stood like a statue as the man inspected her. He stopped in front of her and smiled briefly. He removed a microfiber cloth and a roll-out stick of some kind of wax from a pocket. He smeared wax all over Peamon's beak and spent the better of ten minutes rubbing it in harshly with his cloth.

The man put back his wax stick and cloth, and stepped back. He nodded at Peamon and spoke to her in Mandarin.

"_The House of Opal is the most prestigious Digimon coaching center in downtown Shanghai._" The man said. "_We found you at the impound center, and there you were dirty, unsophisticated, and you talked back to humans. To tell the truth I don't know what the directors brother could possibly have been thinking when he allowed a bilge sucking pigeon like you into our hollowed halls. We buy stock from the most sought after Digimon bloodlines, and you soiled our carpets when you first stepped foot on them._"

"_Yes sir._" Peamon said, not moving anything but her beak.

"_Shut your beak pigeon!_" The man shouted. "_You'll ruin the wax job I gave you. You may speak only after it glazes._"

Peamon stood like a statue yet again.

"_That's better._" The man grumbled. "_Now it's taken us eight years, but we've finally molded you from a pile of filth into a creature we'd be proud to sell to a client… but only if you never tell anyone where you came from. We went through a lot of trouble forging your pedigree, and as long as that pedigree is accepted, than you will bring the House of Opal great esteem._  
"_Now we are ready to sell you to a human client. You will serve them with absolute faith and loyalty. You will be a shining beacon of high-class protocol. The wealthy of China and beyond with point to you and say, 'she's a great servant, where did she come from', and your masters will respond 'The House of Opal'._  
"_That is what we expect from you. If you deliver this, than I will forgive you for your origins and speak of you with pride. If you do not, well, that's best left to your imagination._"

* * *

Peamon lifted her head from her wing and sniffed the air. The rain cleared up and it was starting to warm. Peamon ruffled her feathers and then lay her head on the sidewalk and sighed. The streets were still empty of human and Digimon alike, but the sounds of skycars and flying wings roared through the sky above, though both were out of sight.

Peamon clamped her beak and ruffled her feathers. She dug her talons into the cement and squeezed her eyes shut.

Nothing was left for Peamon. She remembered the last words more than anything, if she ever disappointed the House of Opal, the consequences were best left to her imagination. She was left alive in a nigh abandoned part of town to live among gutter Digimon feeding on scraps, never coming out into the open for fear of a DRS railgun. Her former masters would stop at nothing to devalue her, while her former coaching center would stop at nothing to erase her from all memory. She never imagined these would be the consequences.

Peamon opened her eyes and stood up. She ruffled her feathers and shook the pebbles out of them. She began walking down the sidewalk, looking down at the cement, not seeing where she was going.

Peamon walked, dragging her feet against the concrete, for hours until her soles were sore and the tips of her talons began to dull. During the time, she wandered into a populated area. Peamon dodged shuffling feat and knew it was a low income area by the fact that there were as many Digimon feet as there were human feet.

Peamon's feet finally hurt too much, and she wriggled herself between and lamppost and a newspaper bin. She sat down on the sidewalk and then felt raindrops hitting her feathers. The rain started again.

Peamon looked up. The street was filled wall-to-wall with two story houses of old fashioned brick, concrete, and stucco. They were all square with flat roofs, all cracked, and all had a tangled web of electric and fiber optic cables running between them. Only half were used as homes, the other half converted into shops or diners. Peamon let her head fall into the gutter on realizing that this was now her home. But there was something unusual about it.

Peamon lifted her head to try and see what it was. People walked by as they did anywhere else in Hong Kong or Shanghai, but in a different way. Peamon reached her head out and squinted, trying to find out what it was, and then it cam to her.

Everyone had smiles on their faces. When two people approached each other, they made eye contact and moved out of the way of one another. There was laughing, and running, and people and Digimon eating with their fingers.

A ten year old boy in no more than a tee shirt, jean shorts and flip flops chased two Furomon through the rain. Furomon were New Digimon, appearing as five foot long dirty gold ferrets with brown zigzagging zebra stripes. They were probably a mated pair, and far too quick and agile for the boy to possibly catch.

None of it made any sense. Proper etiquette was to never acknowledge the existence of anyone else unless they were introduced to you, and never to display any kind of emotion unless it was called for. Such etiquette was dismissed here.

How could these people act so happy when they live in such slums? None of them will ever be invited to a formal party or be mentioned in a publication, and those who would, would do best to pretend they don't exist. So what possible reason would they have to be happy and acknowledge each other's presence? Protocol forbids it.

Peamon wondered… was it possible that they simply didn't give a damn about protocol?

The mood suddenly changed. Everything went quiet. People walked off the broken road and onto the sidewalk. Many people and nearly all Digimon ran indoors, and shops and diners closed up. Peamon squeezed her eyes shut, remaining between the lamppost and newspaper bin, waiting for the end. She knew there was only one force that could change the mood of a whole street so drastically, so fast.

The rhythmic stamping of boots came from the distance. It grew louder, a dozen strong, and finally stopped until it was right in front of Peamon. A mans voice barked at her in Cantonese through an electronic mask.

"_We are the Digimon registration service._" The man said. "_You stand before us outside the presence of a registered Tamer. Show us your Tamer registration card._"

Peamon opened her eyes and saw them. Twelve men in segmented black polymer wetsuits grafted with green armor stood around her, all pointing their massive Railguns at her. The logo _Digimon Registration Service_ was stamped into their chests in Japanese Katakana.

Peamon sighed and lowered her head. There was no more need to be afraid of them.

"_I don't have one._" Peamon said. "_My tamer abandoned me._"

"_It is your sworn duty as a Digimon in the world where humans dwell to be assigned a human Tamer to whom you will serve loyally and fondly._" The man said. "_From here we will escort you to your place of temporary residence where you will stay until such a time as you are chosen as a subject by a qualified human being. Refusal of our creed will result in immediate termination._"

Peamon looked up at the DRS troopers, and at the windows of the buildings. People and Digimon stared at her with concerned looks on their faces. No one would ever do such a thing in the proper areas of the city.

_Should I just ask the to kill me?_ Peamon thought. But she couldn't. Peamon squeezed her eyes shut and twitched her eyelids rapidly. Images passed through her mind of marches for Digimon rights, words from people like Eric, Vulpamon, Chiroptermon, Terrence, and Takato, all preaching universal equality and respect for Digimon, and an end to registration. She saw the faces of the people staring at her in the windows. She couldn't ask them to kill her. As much as she wanted to, something prevented her from doing so.

Peamon opened her eyes and looked at the DRS troopers. "_I'll go with you._" She said.

"_Follow us._" A trooper ordered.

The DRS troopers stamped away in rhythm. Peamon sighed. She stood up, pulled herself from her wedge, and followed behind.

* * *

Vulpamon was back in the huge ovoid shower in suite number one of the new Hypnos HQ. She lay back against the reclining porcelain wall, her arms wrapped around her chest, her head tided to the side so she looked into the room sized terrarium at the wall next to the shower. The water misting down from panels in the ceiling was hot enough to come out mostly as steam. The hot water slicked Vulpamon's fur flat against her body, and making her tail look like a blue and white noodle.

Vulpamon thoughts turned a blank long ago. Whatever Renamon said to her was now forgotten, for the moment at least as Vulpamon suffered a kind of mild hypnosis induced by the sitting so long in the shower. It was what she wanted. She was somehow fundamentally different from other Digimon, and that had something to do with her being the near likeness of Renamon, who was also fundamentally different from the Digimon of her time. Renamon's words were too much for her at the moment. That's what the shower was for.

But it wouldn't last.

The bathroom door creaked open and a man stepped inside. Vulpamon didn't notice, not even when the steel door slid into a space between the glass bricks and he stepped inside with her.

The now naked Eric shut the door and got down on his hands and knees. He crawled up to Vulpamon and lay on his side against her. Vulpamon absentmindedly wrapped her arms around Eric before finally realizing he was there.

"How did you know where I was?" Vulpamon asked.

"Whenever you're upset you use up all the hot water in the shower." Eric answered. "So I just looked at a map of this place and found the ritziest shower in the whole complex. I knew you'd be there."

Vulpamon closed her eyes and rested her chin on Eric's head.

"We know each other too well Eric." Vulpamon said. "It's impossible for either of us to get away from the other."

"If that's what you want, all you have to do is ask." Eric said.

"No, that's not what I meant."

A time passed in silence.

"How much longer until the hot water runs out?" Eric asked.

"It won't." Vulpamon said. "I looked at the map too. This complex has a continuous water filtration and recirculation system and a microfusion heater. It'll never run out of hot water."

"In that case you'll probably be here the rest of the day." Eric mumbled. "I wouldn't mind spending the day here with you."

More time passed in silence.

"Eric?" Vulpamon asked.

Eric didn't answer, but Vulpamon continued anyway. "I don't want a tamer. I only want you as a lover, that's all."

"Well that's all fine and dandy," Eric replied. "but we both know what the DRS'll do if that ever happened. You know they're just waiting for an excuse to kill the both of us."

Vulpamon nodded her head.

Eric climbed up Vulpamon's body and reached a hand behind her neck. He pressed his lips against hers and she pressed back. Vulpamon kneaded her paws into the flesh of Eric's back as they kissed. Eric's hand trailed to a small touch screen in the wall and pressed a button to increase the water temperature. The steam thickened and blocked all but a few inches of vision.


	15. Episode Eight, part one

**Author's Notes:** To those who keep up with both, Digimon Rising's hiatus of five months was nothing compared to Gems of Tommorow's hiatus of over a year. Still... it wasn't entirely fair. The point is, I had to go back and skim through several other chapters to get the character facts straight in this one. And, well, I'm actually a bit emberrassed by my earlier chapters here. The detail, dialog, and style are just not very good compared to my more recent writings. Even the length of over seven thousand words here --which I once considered an achievement-- now only seems mediocre. But I'm rambling now, so please enjoy.

* * *

The door to into the plain, square, concrete hallway was painted a dull caramel. It was like a door in a school or gymnasium—steel with a lever bar running across it like a handle. A plastic black label in a brass slide beside the door read _Suite Number One_ in Japanese Hiragana. The lever bar lowered and the door slowly opened outward into the hall. Two occupants exited the rooms, both yawning as they did so.

Eric was back in his usual outfit of a plain black tee shirt, jeans, jean jacket, and the forty four year old goggles of Takato Matsuda propped up on his forehead, looking like they were about ready to fall apart. His arm was wrapped around Vulpamon's waist and his fingers traced circles through the fur on her side. Vulpamon's fur was smoother and shinier now than it had been for some time. Her fur was thinner now, but it fluffed and flowed like it hadn't done in so long ago. For hours on end, her fur was washed, conditioned, brushed, combed, and finally dried. Vulpamon herself had an arm wrapped around Eric's own waist. Her shoulders slumped downward and her legs appeared to barely have the strength to walk themselves forward. Her eyes were half open and her breath was slow and methodical. It seemed her every muscle was limp from Eric's so long treatment. She'd forgotten how long it had been since she was that relaxed.

Eric and Vulpamon walked out into the hall and let the door fall shut behind them. Vulpamon slid her hand up Eric's waist to rest on his shoulder so she could be more comfortable resting her head on his other shoulder. It was slightly awkward with Vulpamon being more than half a foot taller than Eric, but she was insistent.

Eric stopped and looked to the side to find his nose pressed up against Vulpamon's cold, wet muzzle. Vulpamon licked the crease above his upper lip. Eric blinked as she stared into his eyes.

"You've never done this before." Eric said.

"Well, I've never such a great shower before." Vulpamon whispered back.

Eric smirked on one side of his mouth for a split second and then looked ahead again. Vulpamon wrapped her other arm around Eric's chest and leaned against him. She dragged her nose down his neck and licked up it. It prompted Eric lean his own head against her and bite his lower lip to keep silent. Suddenly, he pulled away, folded his arms, and looked down the hall.

"What's wrong?" Vulpamon asked.

"What you said back there." Eric mumbled.

Vulpamon shook her head. "I said a lot of things."

"About you." Eric nearly whispered. "About what Renamon told you."

Vulpamon instantly reacted to the comment. She stood up straight and folded her arms like Eric had. Her ears swept back and her eyes lost their expression. Her tail fell flat and she stuck her nose up in the air. Outside the hypnotic hot water and Eric's grooming hands, –among other things– Vulpamon thought deeply enough to realize how little she wanted to talk about whatever she was. Eric either didn't notice, or didn't care to look like he did.

"I can't help but think, maybe that's part of the reason Takato wanted us here." Eric continued. "If you're really so different from other Digimon, and that has something to do with Renmon... it's the only thing that makes sense to me."

Eric unfolded his arms and turned around. Vulpamon's posture was locked straight like a plank. She had turned her side to Eric and looked down at a spot on the floor. Eric looked at that spot and found a tiny piece chipped from the concrete floor. They both focused on that spot as they spoke.

"You don't know how to be subtle do you Vulpamon?" Eric asked.

Vulpamon did not respond.

"Well, at least now I know how to get you to open up to me next time."

Vulpamon narrowed her eyes and tightened her lips together. She didn't want Eric to say that.

"Anyway, I don't think we should tell anyone else this yet, I mean, besides the people who already know."

Vulpamon shut her eyes and sighed, and relaxed her muzzle. That seemed to be a slightly comforting thought.

Vulpamon opened one eye and turned it to glance at Eric. Besides that, the only motions were of Eric and Vulpamon breathing. They stayed still for some odd seconds. A ceiling track light flickered in the distance in one direction, and water dripped in the distance in another. Eric huffed, perhaps knowing what he had to do to break the mood.

"We should find someone." Eric said. "I want to know if they have a gym here and all the maps of this goddamn place are all labeled in Japanese."

Vulpamon immediately relaxed at Eric's change of subject. She opened her eyes and let her arms fall to her sides. She turned toward Eric and walked up to him, this time letting her tail swish back and forth as she did, and drawing Eric's gaze to it. They walked side by side down the concrete hall. A paw laid casually on Eric's shoulder was the only remnant of Vulpamon's previous compulsive cuddles.

"Where should we go?" Vulpamon asked.

"I don't know." Eric asnwered. "This place is just so damn big, and we don't have maps, not that they'd do any good anyway. We're bound to run into someone if we just wander."

So Eric and Vulpamon wandered, taking some turns, and missing others. For a time they remained silent and never looked at each other. After a time, they began to converse again.

"We're going to pick up Parsley and Peamon tomorrow." Eric said.

"Yes I know." Vulpamon replied.

"Our trip will be unannounced." Eric continued. "We'll get to avoid most of the press and fans that way, but that also means whoever's after us will get the chance to strike at us directly."

"I doubt Takato would be stupid enough not to send out a kind of sentinel, like he did last time with Beelzemon. By the way, what did you learn about Parsley's family?" Vulpamon asked.

"They're into soda and liquor." Eric answered. "They were from Shanghai originally. They're just... really, really clingy to old traditional Chinese refinement. It was really bad for Parsley since she grew up in Hong Kong where everyone's pretty much forgotten the old ways, especially after the Sha Tin gate opened."

"Would that explain why she hates Peamon?" Vulpamon asked.

"I don't really think she does hate Peamon." Eric said. "I think Peamon just reminds her of the snobbery, or at least snobbery to her."

"If that's the case, getting Peamon back would be easy enough." Vulpamon continued Eric's train of thought. "If Parsley's family is so adamant on adhering to the letter of Old China, than they'll have thrown Peamon out on the streets after seeing that she failed their expectations in any way."

"That just leaves Parsley." Eric said. "I know she'd want to follow us, but how do we get her without becoming wanted in China."

"That has already been taken care of."

The voice was deep and feminine, with a distinct Japanese accent. Eric and Vulpamon looked up.

A middle aged woman stood in front of them. She had burnt-orange hair tied back in a short pony tail. She looked half Japanese and half Caucasian, and was certainly taller and stronger looking than the average Japanese woman. She wore thin, frameless glasses and a cherry red business suit over a white tee shirt. She stood with her hands on her hips.

Eric and Vulpamon stared with furrowed brows at this woman. She seemed the polar opposite of Takato, equally old but with a strength and figure of someone much younger. Her presence almost intimidated.

"Sorry," She said. "I am not much good with English. I give you... I want to give you this."

The woman reached out a hand. Eric and Vulpamon looked at it only then realizing there was something in it the whole time, a pair of goggles. They were black, sleek, and smaller than Takato's. Despite their appearance as skiing goggles, they were clearly electronic.

"These are prototype I help to design." The woman said. "They see in many a spectrum. Please take them, and give me Takato's goggles."

"Why?" Eric asked.

"You do not want to wear Takato's goggles." The woman answered. "You do not want to be more of him than you are."

Eric tentatively reached out and wrapped one finger at a time around the woman's goggles. He held onto them for several seconds until she nodded with the slightest hint of a smile. She let go of the goggles and Eric shoved them in his pocket.

The woman kept her hand out expecting more. Eric looked up at Vulpamon as if asking permission for something. She gave it with a nod. With his other hand, Eric reached up and pulled Takato's old goggles off his head, and handed them to the woman. She took them with another nod and slipped them inside her outer jacket pocket.

"Uhhh... thanks?" Eric said. "Do you know if. I mean, we can't really read Japanese too well. Is there a gym here?"

The woman turned to the side. She removed a circular compy from her inner jacket pocket and flipped it open with her thumb. She pressed a button on the tiny keypad and spoke something quick into the compy in Japanese. She turned back and handed it to Eric.

"We have most advanced gym in world." She said. "This will lead you there."

"Ho do you know it's the most advanced in the world?" Eric asked.

"I design it for myself." She answered. "Excuse me."

The woman walked between Eric and Vulpamon, who stepped aside to let her pass. Eric and Vulpamon turned to watch her walk down the hall, until she turned and disappeared from view. They looked at each other then, both with quizzical expressions.

"Who was that?" Eric asked.

"I don't know." Vulpamon answered, shaking her head.

"Well, what the hell did she mean by, 'being more of Takato'?"

Vulpamon looked down and to the left, placing one finger below her chin trying to ponder the meaning of that phrase. She huffed. Then her eyes went wide for only a moment and she dropped her hand to its side. She sharply turned to look at Eric and took a step toward him. She ran a hand through Eric's hair dark brown hair. Eric looked at her in confusion and blinked repeatedly.

"No matter how much you combed or sprayed it, you never could get your hair stay straight, could you?" Vulpamon asked.

"No... uh, why are you asking me this?" Eric asked.

Vulpamon sighed. She turned back to look down the hallway.

"Nothing." Vulpamon said. "We should get to the gym."

Elsewhere, the woman in the red suit kept walking down hallways looking exactly like the ones she encountered Eric and Vulpamon in. She took one turn and then another, steadily gaining pace until she could not walk faster without jogging. She seemed to know exactly where she was going. As she went, she unbuttoned her suit jacket. The jacket fell open revealing her white tee shirt to have baby blue sleeves and an indigo heart emblem on her chest.

She stopped at a pull-down brass slot in the wall. A plastic black label in a brass slide beside it read _Garbage Chute _in Japanese. She removed Takato's old goggles from her jacket pocket and looked down at them. She spoke to them in Japanese.

"_Sorry old friend,_" She said. "_but it's too late now. You had your chance with him but you just ran away and hid. Now he doesn't even know who you are."_

The woman slid open the garbage chute, tossed the goggles inside, and let it close.

* * *

Eric couldn't help but stare. So far he'd seen only a single room of a gym that was supposedly over twenty four hundred quare meters –over twenty six thousand square feet– but already it was incredible. This first room was like a bent rectangle, and appropriately geared toward the martial artist. Eric bounced on carbon-cloth wrapped gel floor, a padding also covering the walls. The far side of the room was all dozens of different bags and boards and pads of all different kinds, somehow arranged in an almost homely pattern. The middle of the room contained a full sized ring on one side, and a juice and supplement bar on the other. The front of the room was largely like a lobbey, with couches, furniture, and house plants arranged accordingly. Other rooms certainly waited with other themes.

Eric's attention was broken from the room by the feeling of something cold and slippery sliding over his right hand. He looked down to see Vulpamon slipping what appeared to be an oversized, fingerless black rubber glove on his hand. She held another between her fingers.

"What is that?" Eric asked.

"Artificial muscle glovewraps, with artificial cartilage padding." Vulpamon answered. ". Nothing else in the world will protect your hands like these. The room behind the health bar is a exercise wardrobe. I also found a microfiber suit I think will fit you quite nicely."

As she talked, Vulpamon took Eric's other hand and slipped the other glove onto it. She revealed then that she'd palmed two dime sized power cells. She took Eric's hands and slipped the cells into pockets and the wrists. The gloves reacted to the power by shrinking and constricting over Eric's hands, tighter in some places than others.

Eric brought his hands up and clenched them into fists. The gloves molded perfectly to fit his hands. He could see where the artificial cartilage bulged through, lightly padding the back of his hands.

"Don't these things cost a thousand bucks a piece?" Eric asked.

"You did say they built this facility with an eighty billion dollar fortune didn't you?" Vulpamon asked back.

Eric let his hands fall to his sides and looked up at Vulpamon.

* * *

A hand struck the black vinyl-esque wrapping of a two and a half meter tall punching back strapped so tightly to the floor and ceiling by similar vinyl-esque ropes that it couldn't move so much as vibrate from the force of the blow. The blow didn't deform or even dent the bag, as if it were solid, hardened rubber. Another hand struck the bag, a straight jab lkethe one before. Both hands were wrapped in the artificial muscle glove-wraps. More straight jabs followed, along with grunts not of force, but pain as they struck such a hard surface. Hooks followed, and then overhand blows.

As Eric stepped back he looked as his hands in front of him. They shook, and the skin at his second and third knuckles started to peel and turn white, and tiny amounts of blood began to leak from beneath his fingernails. He brought his hands to his face and systematically sucked on his peeling knuckled and barely bleeding fingernails.

Eric was dressed in logoless, letterless, plain black track pants and a sleaveless tunic of microfiber. A microfiber headband wrapped around him. Much of the new clothing was now soaked in sweat, and sweat dripped from Eric's nose and chin.

Vulpamon stood beside him unsure of herself. She looked at Eric with her ears pushed back and her eyes narrowed. Her arms were folded and she was biting her lower lip. Her tail swished back and fourth, not in her slow, alluring way, but with jercky, nervous movements. She stared intently at Eric's hands.

Eric bent over and picked up a towel from the floor. He wiped off his face and dropped it again. Eric clenched and unclenched his hands, wincing slightly from the pain and getting used to moving his fingers in their condition. When he could clench his fists tight enough, he threw his whole body forward and hit the bag with another straight jab, and again with his other fist.

Vulpamon narrowed her eyes further and bit her lip harder.

"You've been at that for an hour now." Vulpamon said. "And you set the bag for maximum stiffness and minimum give.

"What about it?" Eric asked as he hit the bag with a left hook. His the muscles in his arm flew forward from the impact and then backward and they settled again. He proceeded with a right hook.

"Maybe you should give your fingers a chance to heal, or at least put the bag on a lower setting." Vulpamon said.

Eric slammed his fist into the bag with a right overhand blow, and then a left. "What's with the sudden concern for my hands." Eric said as he dealt two more overhand blows. "You had me hitting trees not too long ago."

"And every time you did, you'd break at least one small bone in your hands." Vulpamon said.

"So what!" Eric growled. "It's not like they can't be sown back together at any free clinic!"

Eric threw himself into a jab, only to have a huge three fingered paw grab him by the wrist and sending his body tumbling to the side and onto the gel-padded floor. Eric spun his legs around through the air and threw his body back up to a standing position. Vulpamon stood in front of him with her legs wide apart and her arms to her sides.

Eric took two step toward Vulpamon threw his foot up into the air at her. She stepped to the side avoiding his kick, but Eric stomped his foot on the ground and spun around with an elbow aimed at her face. Vulpamon leaned back and pushed her paw against the wrist of Erist spinning arm, forcing his whole body to turn. As it did, she grabbed his wrist with her other paw and pulled his arm around his own neck. Eric bent his free arm and threw it back into another elbow intending to hit her in the ribs. Vulpamon spun around, still pulling Eric's arm around his own neck, and forcing Eric's entire body to twist and then fall over. With Eric on the ground, Vulpamon gave one hard yank on his wrist, pulling him several feet forward.

"Yaaauuuggghhh!!" Eric screamed in pain. He clenched his face tight and expelled saliva as he did so.

Vulpamon let go of his arm and it fell to Eric's side, twisting the opposite direction it should. Eric groaned in pain, still clenching his face and trying to move his dislocated arm. Vulpamon walked over to Eric and flipped him onto his back with a foot. She stood over him and sat down, straddling his chest. She put both paws on Eric's shoulder and squeezed.

Eric cried in pain for only a moment before sighing in relief as his arm twisted back into place and the pain quickly vanished. His face was bright red, as was his left arm. But his right arm was still ghostly white. He looked up at Vulpamon breathing hard with tears in his eyes. Vulpamon looked down into his eyes with a face full of worry. She leaned down and licked the tears from his cheeks.

"I did all that without striking you once." She whispered into Eric's ears.

Vulpamon sat back up.

"Take off your glove-wraps." Vulpamon said.

Eric nodded. He fished a paperclip out of his pocket and used it to dig into the slots in the wrists of the gloves and pull out the dime-sized power cells. His glove-wraps loosened and Eric shook them off his hands.

"Let me see your hands." Vulpamon said.

Vulpamon took Eric's hands in her paws and ran her fingers across their every part. She squeezed his hands and flexed and stretched his fingers. Eric winced in pain as she did so.

"You're hands are flexible, and your fingers are long and nimble." Vulpamon said.

Vulpamon took Eric's hands and pulled them back. Vulpamon sat up on her knees and wrapped Eric's hands around her butt. She pressed his fingers hard into her flesh. Eric squinted and blinked in confusion as she did.

"What's what for?" Eric asked.

"Shhh." Vulpamon responded. "Your hands are still flexible, and your fingers long and nimble. But if you keep this up, they won't be for long." Vulpamon began to drag Eric's hands up her waist as she talked. "Many small bones in your hand will fuse. Your fingers will grow short and stubby, and the muscles in your hands will become rigid. With hands like those you could break stacks of carbon tiles, or smash coconuts in your palm by squeezing them. But those hands won't be useful for anything else." Vulpamon slid Eric's hands into her mane, and onto what lay beneath it. "You can learn to defend yourself without turning your hands into inflexible slabs of rock."

"You never about my hands before." Eric said.

Vulpamon slid Eric's hands out of her mane and around her shoulders. She leaned over and pressed her muzzle against Eric's nose, and licked his lips.

"Well I am now." Vulpamon said. "It was that shower that did it to me, and it wasn't the water or the sex either. I've never spent five straight hours being groomed before. Hell, I've never even spent half an hour being groomed. It made me... relaxed, something I'd completely forgotten the feeling of. Your hands can do wonderful things Eric, and it would be a shame to loose that."

Eric sighed. He closed his eyes and brought his hands up around Vulpamon's neck and pulled her forward. She didn't resist. She leaned her head further in and pressed her muzzle into Eric's lips. They held still lie that for several seconds before separating, and Vulpamon sat back up on Eric's chest.

"It's only eight o'clock." Eric said. "We still have a couple more hours."

"Well, right now its your skills that need honing, not your body." Vulpamon responded. "But I'm not too familiar with this gym, and I can already think of a few things I'd like to add. So in the meantime, I did some exploring while you were at the bag and found a row of six rooms with inertial accelerators. Each room with a different machine inside."

Eric lifted one eyebrow. "Inertial accelerators? I thought only Billionaires and Olympic athletes got to train on those!"

"Well if what you said about the Hypnos's budget is true, than those things are just pocket change to these people."

* * *

Eric and Vulpamon stood in a small chamber three by five meters. The floors were vinyl but the wall were completely covered in hexagonal metal plates. A black and silver elliptical machine stood in the center of the room facing a full meter length monitor with total network access. A tiny control panel built into the elliptical machine controlled the monitor, while a larger panel built into the wall controlled the intertia within the space of the rooms. Eric was in a new indigo microfiber outfit, otherwise the same as the previous. Vulpamon held a bandoleer filled with towels and six bottles of clear sports drinks

"The inertial accelerator is aerobic, cardio, and strength training all in one, and on every muscle in the body at once." Vulpamon said. "It's also supposed to be the most agonizingly painful of exercising expedriences, or at least according to the instructions. I'll put it on level three for ninety minutes."

"Why so arbitrary?" Eric asked.

Vulpamon shrugged her shoulders. "The instructions also say that no one should ever go above those setting for the first few moths of using it or else it might damage their heart. But I doubt you'll even last the full ninety minutes."

Vulpamon turns to the control panel on the wall and starts pressing buttons.

"It's strange that all the interfaces here have an English option but none of the maps do." Vulpamon mumbled. "I doubt you'll even last the full ninety minutes though."

Vulpamon finished working the control panel. The room started to hum, prompting Eric to look around at the hexagonal plates covering the walls, and then at Vulpamon. The hum died down quickly.

"I don't feel any different." Eric said.

"The accelerator is set to reach its power over five minutes to give you time to adjust." Vulpamon replied. "So I suggest you hop on the elliptical now."

Twenty minutes passed. Eric gasped and wheezed for every breath he took. He moved at a leisurely sixty cycles a minute on the elliptical machine, but sweat drenched his new outfit even worse than it had with an hour at the bag. The sweat flew off his face and arms as he moves, and sopped from his hair into his headband. He squinted and furrowed his brow in pain. He almost seemed as if he were moving in slow motion. Every time his arms or legs had to stop and reverse direction, the muscles and clothes were thrown back in the opposite direction, as if slamming to a halt from blinding speed. Eric began to whine under his breath in pain.

Vulpamon stood nearly motionless behind Eric with her paws on her hips.

"You feel that?" She said. "I know that expression. Last time I saw you make that face you were thirteen, and still fat and flabby. Do you remember?"

"I puked and passed out!" Eric growled.

"But you also got fitter and stronger faster than you ever had before or since." Vulpamon continued. "If you can feel that again, and if you can keep feeling that without fail, than you can become stronger than you've ever dreamed of."

"What the hell's happening?" Eric cried.

"I'll tell you." Vulpamon answered. "Every move you make, every change in direction, is all being made against three times your body weigh, including breathing. Even your heart has to work against three times its own momentum to keep beating."

Eric kept cycling on the Elliptical machine. As the minutes went by, his condition steadily worsened. Eric's eyes began to flutter. He started to stagger in his movements and wobbled as he cycled on the elliptical machine. Finally, his gasping for breath started to turn to coughing.

"Stop!" Vulpamon shouted. "Slow down and step off!"

Eric slowed each cycle as he went on, one second a cycle, then two, then three, finally he came to halt and then fell over backwards into Vulpamon's arms. He looked up at her with dilated eyes and his arms and legs shivering and his fingers quivering. But his breath slowly returned from coughing, to gasping, and finally normal, albeit intense, breathing. But his disorientation seemed to stay.

Vulpamon wrapped her arms around Eric's chest and wrapped her chin over his head. She walked over to the control panel on the wall, reached out, and pressed a large, hexagonal red button. Eric immediately relaxed as she did so, breathed deeper, and shivered less. Vulpamon sat him down against the wall, removed the last bottle of sports drink, opened it, and shoved it against Eric's lips. Eric chugged the entire bottle in a single gulped and gasped when the bottle was taken away.

Vulpamon sat down cross legged and pulled Eric into her lap.

"You almost stopped breathing." Vulpamon whispered. "I didn't think anything of it when you were struggling so bad, but I didn't know you'd almost stop breathing. If I had any idea it would be that intense I'd have set it to level two."

"Let me back on!" Eric mumbled.

"You've got to be crazy to want to continue like that!" Vulpamon said. "I won't let you back on. I didn't even see you needed to stop until you went too far! You feint on the machine and you could hit your head and get a concussion."

Eric began to struggle. He tried to push Vulpamon's arms away and stand up, but she restrained him.

"Eric stop it!" Vulpamon shouted.

Eric calmed. He fell back into Vulpamon's lap and leaned his head into her mane. He opened his eyes and looked toward the far wall. The monitor was tuned to BBC News Live. Throughout his time on the elliptical machine it had been on, but he could only pay attention during the first ten minutes. After than, he'd lost all awareness of it. And shortly after that, he'd forgotten it was ever on to begin with. Eric relaxed, breathed slower, and fell limp into Vulpamon. His focus was on the monitor.

A BBC News Live reporter followed a girl as she led a small march of about four hundred people with animated signs through the streets around Pike Place Market in Seattle. The signs displayed She seemed Eric's age, though nowhere near as fit. She was rather short, with glasses, floppy brown hair, and a hint of a potbelly. She wore an indigo tee shirt and jeans. A Digimon walked beside her. He was a few inches shorter than she was, and colored bright gold. It's walk was just a bit awkward as its legs were proportionately shorter than his Tamer's. He was the Digimon equivalent of a giant river Otter, over five feet, nearly humanoid, with jagged blue markings across his chest and face, colorful leather gloves and a belt, and spiky brown hair.

The girl and Digimon walked hand in hand followed by roughly five hundred Digimon and their tamers. People around them were separated into small groups, with some cheering as they passed, and others shouting and booing at them. This didn't faze the girl, her Digimon, or any of the others that followed her.

"And you too are in love with your Digimon miss Bordeaux?" A cockney man said from behind the camera.

"Well, if we weren't in love, we wouldn't do this." The Digimon said with a child-like, slightly hoarse voice.

The girl and the Digimon stopped. As their followers walked passed clapping as whistling, the girl and her otter Digimon wrapped their arms around their heads and shoulders and pressed their bodies together for a muzzle to mouth kiss. They both seemed very careful to avoid what Eric and Vulpamon had done just over a week earlier. They showed no tongue and made no sounds, even though they made it clear that their kiss was open mouth. It seemed they wanted to avoid the possibility of their images being blurred or blocked.

Their followers clapped and whistled as they passed, and the detractors along the sides of the road booed and yelled louder. Tamer and Digimon separated after only a few seconds. They turned to, and smiled at, the camera.

"You talked a lot about Eric McCaige during this time." The hidden reporter said. "Do you consider yourself to be on terms with him?"

"Aboslutely not!" Both the girl and otter Digimon said and the same time.

Tamer and Digimon glanced at each other momentarily and snickered at what just happened. They both turned toward the camera and took turns talking, jumping in as soon as the other one left off.

"He was just an inspiration, that's all." The Digimon began.

"I loved Lutrimon long before last Tuesday, Eric just inspired me to tell him." The girl contiued.

"I was going to tell her the same thing myself, but she just beat me to it."

"But we're not on Eric and Vulpamon's level."

"And we don't want to be either. Some people just started following us once we came out to the world, and we don't really seem to be able to stop it."

"We're lucky we at least live in Seattle of all places."

The wrapped her arm around the Lutrimon's and motioned her head toward the window of a doughnut shop. The last of the tiny march passed them by as they did so and they jogged passed the street into the shop. The camera followed their movements, looking through the widow as they pointed out what they wanted from behind the counter and their order was boxed. The hidden reporter commented while it looked at them.

"Sara Bordeaux is only the latest in what seems to be an exodus of registered Digimon Tamers, coming out publicly about romantic involvement with their Digimon since the events of last Tuesday at Tokyo's Sky City Two." the hidden reporter said. "Many who live in cities famous for their embrace of Digimon such as San Francisco, Rio De Janeiro, Madrid, Tokyo, and here in Seattle have found themselves unwittingly leading small, local activist efforts. Few have come out in cities noted for their hostility to Digimon, such as Mexico City, Dublin, Bucharest, and Moscow, and those who have there have frequently become the target of hate crimes ranging from..."

Eric and Vulpamon continued to stare unblinking at the monitor displaying the live feed of one Sara Bordeaux and her otter Digimon Lutrimon at a doughnut shop in Seattle's Pike Place market long after the marchers they inspired had passed and probably dispersed. In time, the image faded and was replaced by the insides of a huge, motorized printing press covered in black sludge accompanied by a story of a "malfuction" at the British Royal Mint. After their attention broke, Eric and Vulpamon blinked and looked at each other.

"I think I know her." Eric said. "She wrote me a letter about two-"

"What you just did is more important." Vulpamon interrupted. "I've been being irresponsible with your health. Ever since we became involved you changed your training routine. You push yourself beyond your limits and hurt yourself every time."

Eric groaned at Vulpamon's statement. He grabbed her wrists and tried to pry them off his chest while trying to stand up. Vulpamon easily restrained him, but Eric persisted. He bent forward and then cried and fell back into Vulpamon's lap. His face and teeth were clenched and he groaned in pain while clutching his abs. Vulpamon looked down at Eric with a strange expression of worry, which she'd seldom ever shown before. Eric's actions were confusing and irrational. Vulpamon had many times Eric's strength, and was far more skilled than him. And yet he tried to fight her outside of sparring. She thought nothing of at the time, but even now he struggled against her. He'd never done this before, but she had also never interrupted his training before.

"Stop it now!!" Vulpamon hollered.

Eric obeyed. He flopped back down onto Vulpamon's lap and sighed.

"You never complained about my training before." Eric grumbled.

"Like I said, five straight hours of grooming... it did something to me. I don't know what exactly, but it was something. The important thing is, why do you do this?"

Eric groaned again and turned his head to the side, refusing to answer Vulpamon's question. He didn't struggle, but he stayed tense in Vulpamon's lap, a very rare event. Vulpamon laid her chin on top of Eric's head, but it only made him narrow his eyes and clench his fists. Vulpamon knew Eric wouldn't respond to her words, but she still thought it best to force him to know that he couldn't hide.

"I know why." Vulpamon said. "It's Marcy and Devon isn't it?"

Eric tensed harder.

"I thought so." Vulpamon continued. "You should visit them after we get Parsley and Peamon back, if Takato would let us that is."

"They're not my family any more." Eric grumbled. "I don't care what they think."

"They're the only family you've ever had." Vulpamon said sternly. "And if you really didn't care what they thought, you wouldn't be pushing yourself to the point of injury every time either of us insist on your training. And I think you just aggravated that fractured pinky you got last time from the tree."

"It was just a hairline. I still have full motion." Eric grumbled. "I can barely even feel it."

"And you probably made it bigger tonight." Vulpamon continued. "So no more bags until it's healed. And next time you use the inertial accelerator, set it to level two. No training will do you good if you suffocate. Now this room nearly did you in, so what you need now is another shower, a nice ultrasound massage, a tall glass of milk, and a good night's sleep. and I'm going to make sure you get all of them."

Eric sighed.

* * *

Eric was back in his standard outfit, jeans, jean jacket, black tee shirt, sneakers, and goggles over his forehead. Now though, he wore the black, sleek, electronic goggles given to him by the authoritarian woman at Hypnos. His head jostled slightly against the chocolate faux-leather chair he now laid in. He snorted and tensed his shoulders for an instant before relaxing and falling back into his slump against the chair, deep asleep.

Vulpamon sat in the chair next to him, only pretending to read the news lines and pictures and graphs scrolling by on the small monitor built into the chair in front of her. Every second she glanced to her right almost as if making sure Eric was still there. Another tiny jolt to the plane and Eric's head jostled again, eliciting another brief snort and jostle of the head. This in turn elicited another look from Vulpamon, but this time, her gaze stayed. She squinted at Eric and cocked her head. Her ears swept back and the fur on the back of her head stood on end. She seemed unsure of what she looked at. Vulpamon reached a paw toward Eric and hesitated before laying it on his head. Vulpamon breathed deep and leaned over. She licked the side of Eric's neck once before glancing out toward the aisle.

As soon as she saw into the aisle, Vulpamon let go of Eric and sat up straight in her seat, staring into the monitor with her arms crossed.

Terrance and Chiroptermon sat in their own faux-leather seats on the other side of the aisle marked by a blue and red-spotted carpet. Terrance was in his usual spiked hair, khaki cargo shorts, and green hawaiian shirt. Chiroptermon sat upright in the chair next to him, but looking like a stuffed animal with his neck stiff and legs and winged arms sticking straight out in front of him. Chiroptermon was clearly not meant to sit upright, but made due as there was no more comfortable position for him. They were both looking at her.

Vulpamon shut her eyes tight and pretended not to notice them, hoping it would have a similar effect on them. It didn't.

Terrance turned to Chiroptermon and nodded. Chiroptermon nodded back. Terrance stood up from his seat. Chiroptermon reached his clawed hands up and hooked them over Terrance's shoulders. He pulled himself up onto Terrance's back and nestled his head over Terrance's shoulder, all in a far more comfortable position than the chair offered. They walked over the aisle and looked back and fourth. A small dining area with a few circular tables and a minibar held a waitor in a red and blue bellboy outfit, but aside from that, the four of them were the only inhabitants of the entire four rows of the first class deck.

Terrance and Chiroptermon approached Vulpamon.

"How's it hangin?" Terrance asked.

Vulpamon fell back in her seat. She set her hands on the arms of her chair and signed. Other than that, she did not respond.

"Errr... how about this then?" Terrance asked. "We got a couple things to say alright, alright?"

"I think Takato wanted us to find him." Chiroptermon said. "I mean, back at the monastsry, the signal he used to contact us. It was encrypted on four thousand and ninety six bits and refracted throughout the entire global network. At the time I thought it was amazing but, after being there at Hypnos, that kind of security is elementary compared to what I saw. I can't help but think-"

"Look!" Terrance interrupted. "What we're saying is, the son-of-a-bitch wanted us to find him."

Vulpamon briefly squeezed the arms of her seat. She opened her eyes to slits and peeked her eyes toward them for a split-second. She relaxed her paws and folded her arms on her lap.

"Is that all?" Vulpamon asked.

"Actually no." Terrance said. "I was kinda wondering why Eric there never talks about his family, I mean, the ones he left back in the city."

Vulpamon shut her eyes again. Her ears again swept back and the fur on the back of her head stood on end. She squeezed her paws into each other, digging each set of claws into the pads of the opposite paws. Terrance took half a step back after seeing this reaction.

"Why do you want to know?" Vulpamon asked.

"I'm a journalist remember?" Terrance answered. "I always wanna know."

Vulapmon paused and tooka deep breath. "I don't know." She said.

Terrance grumbled something incoherent and waved his hand at Vulpamon. He turned around and walked back toward his seat. As he reached his seat, Terrance stretched his arms out, allowing Chiroptermon to scuffle and claw his way around Terrance's back to his front. Terrance sat down and looked with narrow eyes and the slightest sneer at Chiroptermon staring back, who now sat comfortably on his stomach.

"What about you're family?" Chiroptermon asked.

Terrance turned his head toward one side and pushed Chiroptermon's head toward the other. Chiroptermon could easily have overpowered Terrance's hand, but he let go of Terrance's shoulders and crawled back into the next seat. This time laying upside down with his belly against the back and his leg claws gripping the headrest. He turned to look at Terrance.

"It's a fair question!" Chiroptermon said. "Melody's still at the farm in Newcastle. You know she doesn't do too well when you don't contact her."

"Problem is... will Takato even let me?"

Terrance slumped down in his chair and looked up. The plane flew above the cloudline, and a circular skylight looked into the black, midnight sky full of stars and a quarter moon. Blended-Wing-Body had few window seats, and skylights were an attempt to make up for them.

Across the aisle, Vulpamon also looked up through her skylight. Eric was still deep asleep, snoring lightly and leaning against the side of his seat.


End file.
